

2* A 



cl* / 

„ ■' u * * * -A O * 

» ^ c 0 N c * ’?b 

">^ tl a\ <s. 


0 





t> <5 & -4. 


7 0 * V. * 


.-tV 


cP„ 

<P 


* . - * W * 0 mmp ; ^ > 

j \ 0o x. ow, :ipew ,o C/ 

a + .^Z/Jj&F * K *>- ' \4 > » X * 

<$ .'•»,% ”•"' \* V .., *»M 0 ’ ^ 0 - C 0 

/V ♦ jA A '■ -?v i\< * * .** r .R>» * 

<4 <$>,<£ O ^ «■* * 

- . /WMwhf ° V> <<. O * v 'V - ~ ^ 

, % "' **' s , 

<* - <3 r\ V « v I 

W/ ° 

/, "oo^ ; 

- ^ ^ - ^^# 5 # * -/% 

* V ^ . <sW/\L& ^ kV C** 

\ r P S S ' ' '■ c ^0 £"> i " '' ^ *; 

'*•'* .... ^^-\/;,.„;V‘-'-\/s..,> 

■WWS^ .A ^ ^rx^.V. ^ 




<\, y o * * ■* *\ _ 

% A .** l ,.T<;A **' 

"*j- f „ ^ 

* ~ ^ W * 

Ntf o x 0 ^ . ^ 




<>* V 

o o 



^ ^ X "* \ ^ 

. ^ A ^ V c 0 K (V . ^ 

fe.% A ,r * ^fSu'. “ 




*> Aj 

y 

o 



o 

<* 

•J) 


^ & 

o^>^V‘'‘V 

V - *K 1/ ' ' - * ^ a\ 

oo x ^ V 



? %, ° ’ ’’ ^\ X<X c 0 N c ' ' * * ° 0 ^ u .m, < 

1 *P • » _c^N\ ^ -J> v -i 

‘ ^ . \ < T\tAi -T ^ 1 A£L?JY?' 2 ~ 2 — 

/ft 

* .O /-> 3*^ <, 


O* " >* 


.A 

•fr 


\°o,. 




* o 

0 liV ^ > * it \ \ " v\> 

+'" n ' C> V 

^ W f> 

•o’ -<• '■'_ ' g 5s fe '^ ■» 

* ‘ ■ .\' ., ~ I j — -"' ■ - • J ‘ ' " A 

v* :■ 


«A\W * A> </> 

JxQY * «\ 

c» N sV' S4 °/ 


<* y 0 a \ > 

A ' - o 

A ^ v. 

. * 7 ' < v V - 

* ^ 4^ < c^x 

^ ^ v = 

; *■ a *5e k 

jO o^ r 

<£ 

c> ^ 



S v .0* <“ y 0 5 .V ’ A 

.0- v * l ^% ^ A" V -« 

. - Vi 


* >, A N ' ' 



■‘bo' 

A*. 

#• 

*> •%_ 

* 

*/» 

V 

























MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


























. 












■ ' 








1 HI i iTn 

1 HI 

n 

!« 

l 

iiaa 

'Inll UiinHrK 

U, Wmm 

J 




M. C 


FRONTISPIECE 


p. 25 





MINISTERING 



CHILDREN. 








^1 ®alc 

DEDICATED TO CHILDHOOD. 

A 

4 

BY 

MARIA LOUISA C FT ARLES W ORTH, 

it 


“ Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it 
be right.” — Proverbs xx. 11. 

“Doctrines are the pillars of a discourse. — Illustrations are the windows that let in 
the light.” 



NEW YORK : 

ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS, 

No. 530 BROADWAY. 

1874. 


By Exoh&ogtt 

MAR 26 1929 


> i- 

< Q 



PREFACE. 


Difficulty being sometimes felt in training chil- 
dren to the exercise of those kindly feelings which have 
the Poor for their object, it was thought that an illus- 
trative tale might prove a help toward this important 
end. It must be allowed by all, that the present is a 
day of increased exertion in behalf of those who are in 
need ; but much care is necessary that the temporal 
aid extended may prove, not a mbrttf* injury, but a 
moral benefit, to both the receiver and the communi- 
cator of that aid. May it not be worthy of conside- 
ration, whether the most generally effective way to 
insure this moral benefit on both sides, would not be 
the early calling forth and training the sympathies of 
children by personal intercourse with want and soriw, 
while, as yet those sympathies flow- spontaneously, Let 
the truth be borne in mind, that the influence of the giver 
far exceeds that of the gift on the receiver of it ; and it 
must surely then be admitted, that in all aid rendered 


via 


PREFACE. 


to others, the calling into exercise the best feelings of 
the heart, in both the giver and the receiver, is the 
most important object to be kept in view. To this end 
it is necessary that the talent of money be not suffered 
to assume any undue supremacy in the service of 
benevolence. Letjfiiildren be trained, and taught, and 

led aright, and they will not be slow to learn that they 

$ 

possess a personal influence every where ; that the first 

principles of Divine Truth acquired by them, are a 

• - • — * ~ ~~ —• - — — - 

means of communicating to others present comfort and 

etemalJiappiness ; and that the heart of Love i s the 
only spring that can effectually, .govern and direct the 
hand of Charity. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


*■ 


CHAPTER I. 

“ Oh ! say not, dream not heavenly notes 
To childish ears are vain ; 

That the young mind at random floats 
And can not catch the strain. 

Dim or unheard the words may fall, 

And yet the heaven-taught mind 
May learn the sacred air, and all 
The harmony unwind.” 

“And this is the confidence that we have in Him, that, if we ask any thing 
according to His will, He heareth us.” — 1 John v. 14. 


rpHE chimes of the great church clock in a large old town 
were playing aquarter to nine, on a bright September morn- 
ing, when a little school-girl, shutting her mother’s door, came 
stepping down the long dark flight of stairs at the top of which 
she lived ; she wore no shawl, or cloak, or bonnet ; a frock of 
dark brown stuff, a little white linen apron tied round her waist, 
a white linen tippet, and a little fine linen cap with a single 
border crimped close round her face ; this was the little school- 
girl’s dress. Her name was Ruth : and on her arm she had 
hung her green baize bag with her Bible and school-books. 

1 


2 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Good-by, mother,” she said : and shutting the door, stepped 
slowly down the dark stair-case, while her little white figurje 
lighted up its gloom. When she reached the ground-floor of 
the house, she heard a low faint moan, as of some child in 
pain ; she stopped a minute to listen, and heard it again. The 
door at the bottom of the stair-case stood a little way open, 
and Ruth had sometimes seen the widow woman and her child 
who had come to live in that room ; and when she heard the 
moan again, she looked into the room, and there she saw the 
child in bed. 

“ Are you ill ?” asked Ruth. 

“ Yes,” said the child ; “ and my pain is so bad ! and I have 
nobody to be with me.” 

“ Won’t your mother come ?” asked Ruth. 

No, mother ’s got a day’s work ; she won’t be home all 
day ; and my pain is so bad ! I wish you would stay with 
me.” 

“ I must go to school,” said Ruth, “ but I will ask mother 
when I come home, to let me stay with you a little.” 

44 O do ! and make haste, do make haste ! I don’t like to be 
left alone.” 

Ruth went on her way to school. The sun was shining 
bright, and its warm rays beamed on her face, which was 
almost as white as the little crimped linen cap that pressed 
closely round it. Merry children, boys and girls, ran shouting 
and playing past her ; but she walked slowly on her way to 
school, and went up the high steps, and in at the school door 
as the great church clock was striking nine. A good mark 
was set down in the book against her name, and she went t<i 
her place on the form. 

Lessons went on for an hour, and the great church clock 
struck ten. Lessons went on for another hour, and the great 







MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


8 


church clock struck eleven. Then a lady came into the 
school, and called the second class to come to her. The chil- 
dren gathered round her, and Ruth was one of them ; they 
got their Bibles and stood before her, and little Ruth had the 
place that was always hers, close by that lady’s side. Ruth 
did not answer so many questions as some of the other chil- 
dren ; she never spoke unless she was asked, and then she 
answered so softly, that no one but the lady heard ; but the 
lady always seemed to smile at Ruth when she did answer, as 
if she had answered light. When the great church clock 
struck twelve, the lady went away; and the children put up 
their books into their bags, and went to their homes. Ruth 
could not stay with the sick child till she had asked her 
mother ; but she thought she would just look in, and tell her 
she was come back. Ruth looked in, and the child was lying 
quite still in bed ; she did not speak, so Ruth went up and 
stood beside her. 

“ Oh ! I am so glad you are come !” said the poor child ; 
“ what a long time it was you kept at school ! Oh ! I want 
something so bad ! I can’t eat this bread mother left me , it’s 
so hard, it hurts me when I try.” 

“ I have not had any food to-day,” said little Ruth. 

“ 0 dear,” said the sick child, “ how bad it is ! what do you 
do when you have no food ?” 

“ I tell Jesus,” said little Ruth. 

“ Who do you tell ?” asked the poor child. 

“ Jesus,” said little Ruth. 

“ Who is Jesus ?” asked the poor child. 

“ What ! don’t you know who Jesus is ?” said little Ruth. 
u I thought every body knew that except the poor heathen. He 
Is our Saviour ?” 

“ Does He give you some food ?” asked the poor child. 




MINISTERING CHILDREN, 


“0 yes, He often sends us some food when mother has 
nothing : but I must go to mother now, or she will scold.” 

“ Do ask her to let you come and stay with me,” said the 
poor child. 

• “ Yes, I will,” replied little Ruth ; and she went up the high 
stair-case to her mother’s room ; she did not run with light 
quick steps, like children generally ; but she went up slow and 
faint ; for it was not one day alone, but many days, that little 
Ruth went to school without food. She had lost her own 
father : the father she now had was not her own father, and 
he thought only of himself and his own wicked pleasures, and 
left his wife and her children without food. But little Ruth 
had learned to pray ; the lady who came to the school taught 
her from the Bible ; and she had learned to know the love of 
God her Saviour; she loved and trusted Him, and, as she 
said in her own words, when they had no food “she told 
Jesus.” 

When Ruth went into her mother’s room, she saw on the table 
a can of steaming soup. “ O mother ! is that for us ?” she asked, 

“ Yes, to be sure it is. Miss Wilson sent it in this minute.” 

Miss Wilson was the lady who came to the school. Ruth 
had not told Miss Wilson about their having no food that day ; 
so when she saw this can of hot soup she knew it was Jesus 
her Saviour who had put it into Miss Wilson’s heart to send it 
to them. The poor babe was asleep on the bed ; but Mary, 
Ruth’s little sister, was standing at the table crying to be fed. 
Then the mother got a bason, and poured it full for Mary There 
was meat, and rice, and potatoes in the nice hot soup ; and pool 
little Mary left off crying directly she had her spoon and began 
to eat. Then the mother poured out a larger bason for Ruth, 
who stood quite patient by the table. Ruth waited a minute 
with her food before her. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


6 


u What are you waiting for now ?” asked her mothei ; u I 
have nothing more for you.” 

“ No mother ; but that widow’s child is laid in bed ; she says 
her pain is so bad, and her mother ’s out working, and she wants 
me to sit with her.” 

“ Poor thing !” said Ruth’s mother ; “ well, take your dinner, 
and then you may go a little while if you like.” 

u She has no food, mother, but a hard bit of bread, and she 
says she can’t eat it, because it hurts her.” 

“ Oh ! and so you want to be after giving her some of yours, 
do you ? here, give me your bason then, and you take this jug.” 
And Ruth’s mother, pouring some more soup into the broken 
jug she had taken for herself, gave it to Ruth. “ There, take 
care how you go, that you don’t lose it now you have got it !” 
said the mother. And Ruth, holding the jug in both hands, 
went slowly and carefully down stairs. How happy was she 
now — in her hands she held the food she so much wanted ; and 
the poor sick child, left all alone, was to share it with her and 
be happy also ! As she got near the bottom of the stair-case 
she stepped quicker in her eager haste ; then, pushing open the 
door, she went in saying, “ See here, Miss Wilson sent us this 
beautiful soup, and mother ’s given me some for you !” 

a 0 dear, how nice ! how glad I am !” said the poor child. 

“ Have you got a bason ?” asked Ruth. 

“ Yes, there ’s one in that closet, and a spoon too,” said the 
child. 

Ruth found a small yellow bason and a spoon : she broke up 
the child’s dry bit of bread in the bason ; poured some of the 
hot soup over it ; folded her hands, and asked a blessing in the 
name of Jesus ; and then the two children dined .together. The 
warm nourishment brought the color to the white cheeks of 
little Ruth, and soothed the poor, faint, weary child. “ How good 


G 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


you are to me I” she said to Ruth. “I feel better now ; 1 think 
I shall go to sleep.” Ruth put away the bason in the closet 
again ; the sick child had closed her eyes, already almost slum- 
bering ; and the little ministering girl went back to her mother. 

A day or two after, as Ruth came in from school, the sick 
child’s mother was going out, and she stopped and said to Ruth, 
w My Lucy told me how good you were to her : the God above 
bless you for it ! She is always calling out for you ; I wish you 
would stay a bit with her when you can, just to pacify her.” 

Ruth’s mother gave her leave to take the babe down and 
nurse it in the poor child’s room — where she still lay on her 
wretched bed, covered with a torn counterpane. Ruth walked 
up and down to quiet the babe and get it to sleep ; she hushed 
and hushed it, but that would not do ; so at last she began to 
sing one of her school hymns in a low voice, 

“ Jesus, refuge of my soul, 

Let me to Thy bosom fly.” 

The sick child listened ; the low sweet singing soothed the 
infant to sleep, and the sick child into quiet feeling. “ Is that 
Jesus you sing about, who you ask for food ?” said the poor 
child. 

“ Yes,” replied Ruth, “ that ’s Jesus our Saviour ! I can sing 
you something else about our Saviour, if you like.” 

“ Yes, do,” *aid the poor child. And Ruth sang — 

il We read within the Holy Word 
Of how our Saviour died ; 

And those great drops of blood, 

He shed at eventide.” 

Over and over again, while she rocked the sleeping baby, she 
sang the same soft words. When she stopped, the sick child 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


1 


said, “ I can ’t read ; I never went to school long enough to 
learn .’ 1 

“ What, can’t you read the Bible ?” said Ruth. 

“ No, I can’t read any thing ; I don’t know any thing about it.” 

“ I can tell you all about it,” said Ruth. “ I know such a num- 
ber of stories out of the Bible ! Miss Wilson tells them to us, 
and sometimes we tell them to her. And I know a great many 
verses, and some chapters and Psalms.’ 

u I like stories best,” said the poor child. 

“ Well, then, I will tell you one. Let me see, which shall I 
tell you ? Oh ! I know, I will tell you about the little lamb ! 
Once there was a good man, his name was David ; he was not 
at all old, he was quite, young; and he didn ’t live in a town 
like this, but he lived in beautifal green fields, and on great 
high hills, where the flowers grow, and the trees, and where the 
birds sing. He was quite young, but he loved God, and Jesus 
our Saviour. And he prayed to God. And when he saw the 
stars come out in the sky, he thought about Jesus our Saviour, 
who lives up above the stars in Heaven, and he wrote about 
Him in the Bible. He lived alone on the great high hills ; and 
God took care of him ; and he had a great many sheep and 
lambs, and they all ate the grass and were so happy ! and he 
took care of them all. But one day there came a great roar- 
ing lion ; he came so quiet ; he did not make any noise ! and 
he took a little lamb in his great mouth and ran so fast away ! 
but the little lamb cried out, and David heard the little lamb, 
and he ran so fast that the great lion could not get away ! and 
he caught the great lion and killed him ; and he took the little 
lamb in his arms, and carried it quite safe back to its mother. 
Is not that a pretty story ? And I know what Miss Wilson tells 
us about it I” 

u What does she tell you ?” asked the poor child. 


8 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ She tells us, that it is just like Jesus our Saviour; when 
Satan the great roaring lion tries to take us away, if we pray 
to Jesus, Jesus won’t let him have us; but Jesus will take us 
up safe in His arms, and carry us to Heaven when we die, and 
then we shall be so happy there !” 

“ Will he carry me ?” asked the poor child. 

u Yes, He will if you pray to Him,” said little Ruth. 

“ I don’t know how to pray,” the poor child replied. 

“ I will teach you my prayer,” said little Ruth. 

“ 0 God, my Heavenly Father, give me Thy Holy Spirit to 
teach me to know and love Thee. Wash me from all my sins 
in my Saviour’s precious blood. Keep me from all evil, and 
make me ready to live with Thee for ever in Heaven. For the 
sake of Jesus my Saviour. Amen.” 

“ That is one of my prayers, and I can teach it to you. I 
have taught it to our Mary, and she can’t read yet.” 

The poor child tried to learn it, but she could not remember 
the words ; still it seemed to soothe her, to hear Ruth repeating 
them ; at last the poor child said, “ Wash me from all my sins ! 
What are sins ?” 

“ That is when we do wrong,” said little Ruth ; “ we can’t go 
with our bad ways to Heaven, but Jesus can wash them all 
away in His blood.” 

As little Ruth was coming home from school one of those 
bright September days, she saw a poor woman sitting on a door 
step with a basket full of small penny nosegays of autumn 
flowers. Ruth stood still before the basket to look and admire. 
She had never known what it was to hunt over the meadow 
banks in spring for violets and primroses, or gather the yellow 
daffodil and beautiful anemone from the woods, or the sweet 
and frail wild rose from its thorny stem in the hedge ; she had 
sometimes plucked a daisy from the grass, but this was the only 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


9 


flower that Ruth had ever gathered. And now she stood to 
look upon the woman’s basket full of nosegays of garden 
flowers. While she stood looking, a mother and her little girl 
passed by. 

Oh ! mamma,” said the little girl, “ look at those flowers !” 

“ A penny a nosegay, ma’am ; only a penny a nosegay !” said 
the poor woman, holding out some of her flowers. 

“ Do you wish for a nosegay, Jane ?” asked the mother of her 
little girl. 

“ Yes, if you please, mamma.” 

Ruth thought how happy that little girl was to have a nose- 
gay of her own ! she watched her take it ; and then the mo- 
ther and her little girl went on, and Ruth went slowly the other 
way to her home. But as soon as the little girl had left the 
basket of flowers, she said, “Mamma, did you see that poor 
child who looked so at the flowers ?” 

“ Yes, Jane, do you think she wanted a nosegay ?” 

“ O, mamma, will you buy her one ?” 

“ I have not another penny with me, or I would.” 

“ Do you think she would like me to give her mine, then, 
mamma ?” 

“ Yes, suppose you do ; I dare say she very seldom has a 

flower.” 

“ Then I will ; mamma, shall we go back ?” The little girl 
looked back, and saw Ruth walking slowlv away. 

“ 0, mamma, she will be gone !” 

The little girl did not like to leave her mother’s side, so they 
walked quickly back together, till they overtook Ruth, and then 
the little girl gave her the flowers ; the bright color came into 
the cheeks of little Ruth as she curtsied and took the flowers ; 
and then she set off to run with them home; she could not 
run far, but she walked fast, and looked at them all the way she 

1 * 


10 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


went. “ Mamma, did you see how fast that little girl ran with 
her flowers ?” asked Jane. 

“ I dare say she wanted to take them home,” said her mother. 

And so that ministering child parted with her nosegay for 
the little girl, who had never gathered any flower but a dais}'. 
Ruth soon reached home with her flowers ; and first she went 
to the poor sick child, and she said, “ See what beautiful flowers 
I have got ! A lady bought them in the street, and her little 
girl gave them all to me ! I will give you that beauty !” And 
Ruth pulled out the only rose from the nosegay, and put it into 
the little thin hand of the dying child. “ O how sweet it 
smells !” said the poor sick child ; and she lay on her hard 
pillow and the rose in her hand — the only gift she had had 
to gladden her, except food, since she had lain ill in her bed. 

“ Jesus, our Saviour, made the flowers !” said Ruth. “ Miss 
Wilson says it was Jesus made every flower to grow out of the 
ground.” 

“ How kind He must be !” said the dying child. 

Then Ruth took the rest of her flowers up to her mother, 
and they were put in water to live many days. 

Ruth used to go in often to see the poor sick child, and tell 
her stories from the Bible, and sing her hymns when she had 
the baby with her. But one cold November day, when she 
came into the house from school, the poor child’s mother came 
crying from her room, and said to her, “ 0 ! I am so glad you 
are come ! I thought I must have come after you ; my poor 
child ’s dying, and she keeps asking for you.” Ruth went in 
and stood by the bed, and the dying child said, “ Dear Ruth, I 
am quite happy. I .love you very much ; and I want you to 
sing that about 4 Those great drops of blood Jesus shed at 
even-tide.’ ” Ruth sang it as well as she could, but she was 
ready to cry 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


11 


w 1 want you to sing it over and over as you do to the babe,” 
said the dying child. 

Ruth sang it two or three times, and then she stopped ; the 
poor child had shut her eyes, and seemed asleep, but she soon 
opened them again, and said, “ O do sing about ‘Jesus let me 
*o Thy bosom fly ” and while Ruth sang, and the mother 
stood weeping by, the little child fell asleep, and died. Ruth 
cried for her little friend, and missed her very much. But now 
the child’s poor mother said she wanted Ruth to comfort her 
up, as she had done her poor child ; and she begged Ruth to 
read to her, and tell her those beautiful stories, for she could 
not read herself. And so Ruth became the poor widow’s little 
comforter. 

When we see a child dressed neat and warm in her school 
dress, we often think she is well taken care of ; but it is not 
always so ; and sometimes the little school girl or boy is much 
more hungry and faint, than the child who begs his food in the 
streets. We cannot tell how it really is with poor children, or 
poor men and women, unless we visit them in their homes. 
Miss Wilson had often been to see little Ruth, so she knew all 
her sorrows, and she comforted and often fed the little girl, and 
loved her very much. But there was another child who went 
to the same school, and wore the same neat dress, and stood in 
the same class as Ruth, but she had no comforter ; her name 
was Patience. She lived like Ruth, in one room, up a dark 
staircase ; but she had no mother, like Ruth ; her mother died 
when she was an infant ; and poor Patience had never had any 
one to love or comfort her. Her father was a bad and cruel 
man ; Patience had been taken care of by an elder sister, but 
her sister was gone quite away from her home, and she lived 
alone with her father. She cam§ to school every day, but she 
generally came late ; she had earned to read there, but she 


12 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


hardly ever knew her lessons ; and she never answered when 
asked the reason. She was very small, and very thin ; and 
the lady who came to the school never saw her laugh, or smile, 
or cry ; she always looked upon the ground, her lips were 
pressed together, and she seldom answered when spoken to. 
Miss Wilson, the lady at the school, thought she did not care 
about any thing ; she had never been to see her in her home, 
she thought it was no use to go and see a child who seemed 

not to care for any thing ; so she did not know the sorrows of 

the little girl, and therefore she did not try to comfort her : 

nothing seemed to amuse or interest her, she looked with the 

same dull eyes on all. Poor Patience had no comforter, no 
blessed ministering child had been yet to her. One day as Pa 
tience was walking to school, a little companion came and 
walked by her side — a rosy-faced child, eating bread and butter, 
finishing her breakfast on the way to school. Poor Patience 
had had no food that morning, she would have been so thank- 
ful for part of the child’s bread and butter ; but she did not ask 
for any, and when they reached the school, the child threw all 
she had left of it to a fat black goat who lived at a stable close 
by. The black goat tossed his head, and eat it up. Then pool 
Patience said, “ O Nancy, how glad I should be of the food you 
waste !” and she stood watching the black goat eating up the 
bread and butter. But Nancy was not like little Ruth, she was 
not a ministering child, and she ran up the steps into the 
school, and thought no more of her bread and butter, and her 
little hungry school-fellow. 


CHAPTER II. 


T And if there be any other commandment, it is briefly comprehended in this say- 
ing, namely, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyselH” — Rom. xiii. 9. 


TT was a large old town in which little Ruth aud Patience 
dwelt ; there were streets broad and narrow, long winding 
streets, and short ones that cut across from one long one to 
another ; old churches stood about the town, and new ones 
were built among the new-built houses ; there was a busy 
market, a town-hall, and shops large and small ; to which 
the country people came from far and near. In one of the 
broad streets, at the corner of a short and narrow one, there 
stood a large grocer’s shop. Tea and coffee, white sugar 
and brown, dried fruits and spices, candles and sugar-candy — 
all sorts of things that grocers sell, were sold at that cor- 
ner-shop. Mr. Mansfield was the grocer’s name ; and many 
a step passed in at that shop-door when no purchase was to 
be made, for there was no good cause in all the town that 
had not some interest in Mr. Mansfield’s heart — and, for the 
most part, in his shop also, where gold and silver found a ready 
way out as well as in. The rule of weight in that shop 
seemed to be, “ Good measure, pressed down, and shaken to- 
gether, and running over.” The poor people from far and 
near, had all a fancy for that corner-shop ; no one ever asked 
why ; perhaps there was no need, where every one felt the 


same. 


14 


MINISTER!!* G CHILDREN. 


Behind the shop there was a parlor, where Mrs. Mansfield 
usually sat, because it was easy for Mr. Mansfield to step in 
there, and rest himself a little when opportunity offered. It 
was Mrs. Mansfield and her little daughter Jane who passed 
by, when Ruth was looking at the flowers. Jane was the 
ministering child who had made little Ruth so happy with 
her nosegay. Little Jane had several brothers and a baby 
sister. Their nurse was a tall, grave woman ; she never played 
with them, never sang to the baby, and yet they were all as 
merry and happy as children could wish to be ; their hap- 
piness was her happiness, and their infant troubles her care to 
soothe ; and just at the right time she could always think of 
and say the right thing. The nurse did not undertake to teach 
the children in her charge any lessons out of books ; her own 
reading was not of the most perfect kind ; but they learnt 
some lessons from her heart and life, no after-time could efface. 
One lesson that they learned from their nurse was, reverence 
for old age. How quick those little children were to see an 
old man or an old woman coming down the street, w T hen they 
were walking out ; to step off the narrow pavement to leave 
them room, while they would look up at them with kindness 
and interest, and be sure to see in a moment if any thing 
could be done to help them. Another lesson these little chil- 
dren learned from their nurse, was truth ; their nurse had 
never any thing to conceal ; she always did and said the same 
in their mother’s absence as in her presence, so that the 
children always believed their mother and their nurse to have 
one way in every thing. And the children were all familiar 
with the sight of the large Bible with its buckram cover, from 
which their nurse sat to read — learning, with earnest care, the 
way to heaven. 

Some hours of every day little Jane passed with her mother, 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


16 


learning to read and work. One day, when the reading was 
done, before the work-box was opened, Mrs. Mansfield said 
to Jane, “I must go out to attend a penny-club meeting; 
would you like to go with me ?” Jane was delighted to 
go, and ran up to nurse to put on her things. “ I don’t 
know where mamma is going,” said Jane ; “ I could not un- 
derstand.” “ I know,” replied nurse ; “ it ’s the penny-club 
meeting to-day ; that’s where' your mamma is going.” “What 
is that?” asked Jane. “It’s for the poor,” replied nurse. 
Now little Jane had so often heard her parents speaking of the 
poor, and seen her mother working hard ; and when she asked 
her, “ Why do you work so long, mamma ?” she would say, 
“ For the poor that Jane had no doubt the poor belonged 
to her parents ; and, therefore, that they belonged also to her ; 
and she always listened with interest to all that was said about 
them. 

“ Are you going for the poor, mamma ?” asked little Jane, 
as she set out with her hand in her mother’s. “Yes, my 
dear,” replied Mrs. Mansfield ; “ your parents can buy you 
all the clothes you want, but there are a great many poor 
people who can hardly tell how to feed their children, and 
they can not possibly buy them warm clothing ; so some 
richer people said, that if these poor people would lay by 
one penny a week, for a whole year, they would put another 
penny to it ; and then, at the end of the year, these poor peo- 
ple would have all these pennies put together, which would 
make many shillings for them to take to the shop and buy 
warm clothes for their poor little children. But this is the Town 
Hall, where we are going, and you must try and listen to what 
is said.” 

Jane sat on a step at the top of the room, by the bench where 
her mother was seated, and she looked up at the speaker, and 


10 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


listened to all lie said. Before the speaker had done, he looked 
down to where little Jane was sitting, and said, “ Perhaps there 
are some children here who could lay by one penny a week, to 
clothe some poor little boy or girl, who has no warm dress like 
their own. Would it not give them more pleasure than spend- 
ing their money on themselves ?” Jane heard and understood 
what the speaker was saying, and she thought it was exactly 
what she could do, because she“ received from her mother a 
penny every Saturday to spend as she liked best ; but she did 
not say any thing then to her mother, because she had been 
told at other meetings, that she must sit still and not speak. 

After the meeting, Mrs. Mansfield talked long with the ladies 
present ; little Jane held fast by her mother’s hand, which she 
tried to draw with secret impatience towards the door ; at last 
Mrs. Mansfield said, “ Good morning,” to the ladies, and went 
down the Town Hall steps alone with her little girl. 

“ O mamma ! mamma ! would not my penny do for the poor P 
asked Jane. 

“ Not one penny, dear ; one penny would not do much in 
clothing a child.” 

“ No, mamma, not one penny ; but one penny every week for 
a whole year, like what you told me as we came.” 

“ Yes, that would meet some poor mother’s penny, and clothe 
her child.” 

“ May I give it then, mamma ?” 

“ I am afraid you would wish for it, after a little while ; — you 
could buy no ribbons for your doll, or sweatmeats and cakes for 
a feast ; nor could you go to the toy-shop for a whole year, and 
a year is a long time.” 

“ No, mamma ; but the little child who has no warm clothes !’ 

“ Yes, y du would make the poor child warm and happy ; you 
would be able to help buy new flannel, and white calico, and 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


17 


pretty blue print with white spots upoL it, and the poor mother 
would see her child run about warm and neat, as I see you.” 

“ O, mamma, I wish Saturday was come !” 

“ But what if you grow tired, Jane, and begin to want the 
things you have been used to buy for play ? I can not help 
you ; your father and I have taken all the penny tickets we 
can afford ; if you begin you must go on, or you must disap- 
point the child !” 

M I do not want any more toys or sweetmeats, mamma, I will 
not disappoint the child ; may I try ?” 

w Yes ; indeed you shall if you wish. I hoped to have found 
some lady at the Town Hall who would have been able to help 
a poor old woman who came to me yesterday to ask for hei 
little grand-daughter, when all my tickets were promised, but 
now it seems my own little girl will be her friend !” 

“ O yes, mamma, how glad I am, shall I see the little girl, 
does she live in the town ?” 

“ No, she lives in a village seven miles off ; she is a little 
orphan, her father and mother are both dead, and her poor old 
grandmother has taken her home to live with her. Her grand- 
mother said she was coming into the town to-morrow, and I 
told her to call on me, for I hoped to get her a ticket, so you 
can see her ; I do not know whether the little girl will be with 
her.” 

11 Do you know what the little girl’s name is, mamma ?” 

No, but we can ask her grandmother to-morrow. Now I 
am going into this shop to buy you some winter stockings 
Six pair of lamb’s-wool stockings — how warm they looked 1 

u Mamma,” said little Jane, when they left the shop, “ may I 
give my old socks to the little girl ?” 

“ I am afraid they would not be large enough,” replied Mrs. 
Mansfield, “ but I have some worsted stockings of your brother 


18 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Edward’s that would be sure to fit her : if you like to spend 8 
little of your play-time every day in mending them neatly 
enough to be worn, then you shall have them to give to the 
little girl.” 

“Do you not think her grandmother could mend them, 
mamma, as you do for us ?” 

“ Yes, I dare say she could, but she is sure to have plenty of 
other things to do, and I could not let you give to the poor that 
which you had taken no pains to have ready for use and com- 
fort.” 

“ But I do not know how to mend stockings, mamma.” 

“ It is not very difficult ; you could soon learn how to do it, 
and I think you would be very happy working for the poor little 
orphan girl.” 

“ Yes, I should, is it as hard as stitching, do you think ?” 

“ No, the threads are not so fine.” 

“ Shall I begin to-day, mamma ?” 

“ Yes, if you like, I will find the stockings for you as soon as 
I go home.” 

“ Nurse ! nurse !” said little Jane, running in, “ I am going to 
help buy warm clothes for a poor little girl with my penny every 
week ; and mamma is going to give me all Edward’s old warm 
stockings, if I mend them up quite neat.” 

“ Well, that’s a good beginning,” said nurse, “ if you do but 
hold fast to it.” 

And so, in one short hour, little Jane had stepped into a world 
of thought and feeling that seemed at first to hide from sight 
much that before had power to please ; it was but at first — the 
lighter tones of childhood’s merriment soon blended with the 
deeper echoes of the heart’s responsive sympathy — and her life 
yielded their mingled harmony. 

That afternoon little Jane began the stocking-mending in her 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


19 


play Qours, seated at her mother’s side. Aftei a while she 
sighed and said, “ It is rather hard at first, mamma.” 

“ So are many good things at first, my child ; would you like 
to give up doing them, and learn when you are a little older 
to mend stockings for yourself, instead of learning now for the 
poor f” 

“ 0 no, mamma ! how nice it will be when I have done one 
pair ! May I keep them in my own box ?” 

“ Yes, you may have each pair as you finish them. You 
shall fold them up and keep them yourself ; but if you get tired 
and wish to give up doing them, you have only to tell me ; I 
could not let you give up if I were teaching you for yourself, 
but no one should work unwillingly for the poor.” 

“ I shall never like to give it up, mamma ; I do not mind if it 
is a little hard.” 

And Jane worked busily, on, till her mother said, “ Now you 
have done quite enough for one day, and quite as well as I 
could expect ; you can go to the nursery and play with your 
brother till tea.” And merry were the shouts of the happy 
child as she ran, fresh from her self-chosen service of love, 
across the nursery-floor with her little brother at play. 

At tea Mr. Mansfield heard what Jane intended to do with 
her pennies — he quite approved ; but when she climbed upon 
his knee, before her mother took her to bed, he smiled and said, 
“ Perhaps my little daughter thinks her father can find her can- 
dies without pennies to buy them ?” 

“ O no, papa, I don’t want any more ; I shall be so happy 
when I have made the little girl quite warm !” 

u So you will, my Jane, and so is every one happy who tries 
from the heart to help the poor and needy;” and with his 
blessing he sent her to her rest. Jane went to her pillow full 
of thoughts of her little unknown friend. Already she loved 


20 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


the oi*phan her hand was helping to clothe ; she longed for the 
next day, that she. might get on with the warm stockings for 
her feet, and then she remembered she was to see the old grand- 1 
mother who would put the penny to meet her penny ; her hap- 
py thoughts blended in bright confusion, till, like folded flowers 
at night, they closed their leaves, and all were lost in deep and 
gentle slumber. 

The next morning Jane gave many a look from the nursery 
window on the street below, and nurse was often called to see 
whether any one of those who came in sight could be the 
grandmother. At last a knock at the street-door, then her 
mother’s call to her, and Jane came down, stopping a minute at 
the parlor-door, it stood open a little way, and Jane could see 
the old woman and the little girl. Jane ventured slowly in and 
stood close by her mother’s side. 

“ Well, Jane,” said her mother, “ this is your little friend. It 
is my little daughter, Mrs. Jones, who wishes to put her penny 
to meet yours. What is your grand-daughter’s name ?” 

“ Mercy, ma’am, Mercy Jones. Make a curtsey, Mercy, to 
the young lady, and say, Thank you.” 

Jane hid her face behind her mother, and hoped nobody 
would say any more to her ; till after a time her mother said, 
“ Now you may go back to the nursery, Jane.” Jane stole a 
look at little Mercy, as she went slowly out, and she felt as if 
she cared more about that poor little girl than all her play ; 
and, going back to the nursery, she watched till they went 
away — -the tall old woman and the little girl. Then the sound 
of her brother at his play broke again upon her ear, and she 
ran to join him. 

In two days more the first pair of stockings were mended. 
Jane learned how to fold them up ; then she carried them 
safely to her own little trunk — all her treasures were taken out, 


MINIS T'ERINQ CHILDREN. 


2] 


and the stockings put in first, safe on one side of the box, 
plenty of room was left for the other five pair near them, and 
then the other contents of the box were piled on its other side ; 
and when at last Jane had shut the lid and turned away, she 
came back once more to see again how nice they looked — all 
ready for the orphan child ! It was the first labor of her 
hands for the poor and needy ; a child’s large feeling on so 
small occasion may win a smile ; but the occasion had, for the 
first time, touched the deep chord of human sympathy within 
her heart, and the vibration was long and full. 

"Weeks passed away, and when the snow of New Year’s day 
lay thick upon the ground, the stockings were all done — six 
folded pairs of mended stockings in Jane’s own trunk, all ready 
for the orphan child. Then came another visit from the old 
grandmother, but not from the little Mercy. “ Bless you, Miss,” 
said the old grandmother, as she took the piled-up stockings 
from Jane’s trembling hands, “ would not Mercy have liked to 
come ! but her poor feet are so bad with the chilblains, she 
can ’t put them to the ground ; but won ’t they soon be well 
when she has run about a bit in these warm stockings ! why, 
they are the most beautiful stockings that ever I saw, and 
l enough of them to last her almost till she grows an old 
: woman !” 

“ They would not fit her then,” said little Jane. 

[ “No, dear, no more they would, but I can biggen them a bit 
when they get too small ; I understand all that sort of thing ; 1 
I was always brought up to it.” 

; “ Will they really make her feet well ?” asked Jane, remem- 

bering the old woman’s words to that effect. 

« Yes, dear, that they will, the sight of them almost I think, 
for she has hardly had a bit of stocking under her boots all this 
hard winter ; and the boots are got stiff, and her feet are tender, 


22 


MINISTEBTNG CHILDREN. 


for when her Door father was alive she was well clothed. 1 do 
all I can for her, and she never complains, but I am often afraid 
she feels the difference.” 

“ They are all mended,” said Jane ; “ Mamma says they will 
do quite well ; I did not know how to mend stockings before.” 

“ Well, dear, it will be none the worse for you that you 
learned it for the poor and fatherless. I think I see the look 
of my Mercy when I show them to her ! I know her first 
word will be, ‘ O grandmother, now I can soon go to the 
Sunday school again !’ She is wonderfully fond of her school ; 
since Miss Clifford came to teach in it, and Miss Clifford take* 
a wonderful deal of notice of her, and has been to see her ; she 
did not know the poor dear had not a stocking to her foot, 
or that would soon have been there.” 

tt Could you not have told her ?” asked Jane. 

“ Why, no, Miss, I never tell ; I say always, if it comes it 
oomes, and I know where it comes from ; but if I asked, why 
it might be another thing !” 

Mis. Mansfield, who had left little Jane alone with the old 
woman, came back just in time to hear this last sentence, and 
to see the earnest inquiring look Jane fixed on the old woman, 
whose reply she had not been able to understand. Mrs. Jones 
shortly after took her leave, and Jane was left alone with 
her mother. 

“ Did you understand what Mrs. Jones was saying when I 
came in, Jane ?” 

“ No, mamma, what did she mean ? why did she not tell the 
.ady about her little grand-daughter having no stockings ?” 

“ I think you will understand her meaning if I put it in my 
words. Poor Mrs. Jones meant that she told her wants only 
to God, and then if help came to relie re those wants, she knew 
that it was God who sent it to her, by some earthly friend. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


2 8 


The honest and industrious poor, who have been accustomed to 
earn all they receive, do not often like to ask of any one but God.” 

“ But, mamma, if they do not tell, how can it be known ?” 

“ W e must ask God to teach us to know the wants of the 
poor. And if we really wish to help and comfort them, God 
will put it into our hearts to supply the wants He knows they 
have. You did not know that little Mercy Jones had no stock- 
ings, but you wished to jjelp and comfort her, and you were 
led to prepare the very thing she wanted most. God knows 
all the wants of the poor, and He can put the thought into our 
hearts of that which He knows will be best for them.” 

Little Jane was silent, lost in the thrilling awe of one who 
felt herself to have been chosen and taught of God to supply the 
want she had not known. Her mother knew the power such 
first impressions have to train the heart’s young faith, and with 
: her arm round little Jane, she sat in silence too. 
i “ Then, mamma,” at last said Jane, “ I can never know unless 
God teaches me ?” 

u God is your heavenly Father, Jane, and He will teach you 
all He wishes you to know if you love to learn of Him.” 

“ But how will He teach me to help the poor, mamma ?” 

“ God will teach you sometimes by putting the thought in 
your heart ; but He will also teach you in other ways : has He 
not given you an eye and an ear ?” 
j “ Yes, mamma.” 

“ Then He meant you to use them ; do you not often find 
| out what I want without my having to tell you ?” 

“ Yes, mamma, because I live with you.” 

“I am afraid I might get many little girls, and grown up 
i people also, to live with me, and they would not find out the 
things I often want, without my asking, as you do. Is it only 
because you live with me ?” 


24 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ 0, no, mamma, it is because I love you as well !” 

“ Yes, dear Jane, this is the secret : you love me, and there- 
fore you find out my wishes and wants as far as your power 
permits ; and if you love God, you will quickly learn how to 
serve Him, according to His holy will ; and if you love the 
poor, you will be sure to find out their wants and how to com- 
fort them.” 

The clock struck eleven. “ 0 man^na,” exclaimed Jane, “ 1 
have not done my lessons, and it is eleven o’clock !” 

“ Never mind that to-day, my dear ; perhaps we have been 
learning what lesson-books could not teach us ; you can do 
your writing now.” And well it was for that young mind not 
at once to be pressed with lessons. It had felt and thought 
enough for one morning of its early years, and writing was 
mental rest. 








CHAPTER III. 


If ye love Me, keep my commandments.”— John xiv. 15. 

THE village wliere Mercy lived with her grandmother was 
seven miles distant from the town where Mr. Mansfield 
lived and little Jane, where also lived Patience and little Ruth. 
The village church stood on a hill, and close beside it the cler- 
gyman’s dwelling, hid among trees. There was a large and 
beautiful house in the village, called the Hall, where the Squire 
lived ; and Miss Clifford, little Mercy’s friend, was the Squire’s 
daughter. Miss Clifford loved the poor who lived around her 
house ; she had known and loved them from the time when she 
was but a little child, and they loved her ; for the heart of the 
poor can give as pure a response to hallowed interest and love 
as the heart of the rich. Miss Clifford had a white pony named 
Snowflake ; when a little child, she often rode out with her 
father, and called with him at the .farms, and sometimes at the 
cottages. And when she grew older, she had a groom of her 
own to ride out with her every day, and then she often went 
alone to the houses of the poor. She used to carry her little 
Bible with her, and read to the poor old people who could not 
read for themselves : the very sound of her voice seemed to com- 
fort them, and still more the blessed words that she read ; and 
feeble old people, and little children just able to run alone, would 
learn from her lips the holy words of the Bible — those precious 
words which lead all who love them to heaven. It was not Mis, 


2 


26 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Clifford who had taught her little daughter to visit the poor. 
Mrs. Clifford felt for the poor, and sent them gifts at Christmas ; 
but she did not know what it was to love the poor and be loved 
by them, for she had never been among them herself ; but Mrs. 
Clifford loved the word of God, and she knew what was written 
there ; so she was happy that her child should early tread the 
blessed path that leads amongst the homes of the poor, though 
she felt unable to visit them herself. The visits, when a child, 
to the farm-houses, and sometimes to the cottages, with her 
father, might have been one means of leading Miss Clifford to 
think about and love the poor ; but that could not have been 
the only or the chief reason. The poor people, who had no one 
else to teach them as she did, believed that God had put it into 
her heart to be their comforter ; and this reason for her visits 
to them, and her care and love for them, no doubt was the true 
one. Miss Clifford had no sister, but she had a brother some 
few years younger than herself; he was a wild, high-spirited 
boy, with a generous disposition ; but a long habit of pleasing 
himself had made him selfish and too often disobedient. Mr 
Clifford was a very indulgent father ; he allowed Herbert — for 
Herbert was the boy’s name — to amuse himself just as he 
pleased, to spend his money as he liked, and he provided for 
him every gratification suitable to his age and circumstances. 
But, with all this indulgence, Herbert was never allowed in a 
single act of disobedience, nor was he ever allowed to break 
through any rule or principle of justice toward others. Herbert 
knew that if the lessons that his tutor required him to prepare 
were neglected, his father would never admit any idle excuse. 
The rules to which Herbert was subjected by his father were 
but few ; but, such as they were, they might never be broken ; 
this Herbert knew; but his wild spirits, and his haste after 
amusement, led him sometimes to forget ; and then he would 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


27 


fancy that not to be disobedience which proved to be so, when 
tried by the rule of his kind but firm parent. Herbert had 
: never yet known what it was to be a ministering child. 

Mr. Clifford was a great favorite among his tenants. He wa* 
no less firm as a landlord than he was as a father ; but then 
he w.as as kind and considerate as he was firm. No rule he 
!, made was allowed to be trifled with ; but his rules were simple 
and few, and known by all who dwelt on his estate ; and his 
tenants, both farmers and laborers, learned at last to know that 
he made their interest one with his own. His feeling was 
strong of the common brotherhood uniting the whole human 
family, and made itself manifest, whether occasion led him to 
speak to the stone-breaker on the road, or the poorest cottage- 
child. Even with the lowest and most debased, he never lost 
the feeling of a common manhood, with all that it involved and 
^demanded. It is ever those who best know, and best fill their 
own position, who can most readily and effectually keep all with 
whom they have intercourse, each one in his own place. In 
retaining ourselves, and regarding in others the simple standing 
that God has given, there is a native dignity, a moral elevation, 
which, while it tends to set aside the false assumptions of pride, 
makes a constant demand on the effort to maintain that integ- 
rity, both in ourselves and others, without which none can fill 
he earthly position to which God has called them. 

All the farms in the village were the property of Mr. Cli fiord, 
except one occupied by a farmer named Smith, whose father 
and grandfather had rented the same farm before him. Farmer 
Smith’s fields were kept like a garden for neatness ; and every 
ear of the wheat that waved on them in the golden harvest- 
time was sown by the hands of the village children. When 
brown and soft October came to mellow earth and sky, wher. 
the plow had turned the fields’ rich mold, and the heavy roll 


28 


MINISTERING CHCERREN. 


had pressed the long ridges flat, and the wide-spreading rake j 
had broken the hard clods, then went the sowers forth — fathers 
with their merry children, girls and boys, all whose little feet 
could pace the fields backward and forward, and not grow 
weary, whose fingers could drop the precious grain from the 
little wooden basket held on their left arm, three grains into 
each hole, all these might go ; two lines following their fathers, 
who, walking backward, made two holes at every step with iron } 
rods in their hands : following as fast as they could their fa- 
ther’s fast steps, and stooping low as they followed, they dropped 
in the grain with their little fingers — thus the bread that was to 
feed thousands, was sown by the hands- of little children. While 
the robin sung beside them on the yellow branches of the faded I 
maple-tree, and, as the children passed it by, flew on higher up 
in the hedge-row, and perched again beside them, as if to cheer 
their work with its song, or to win the ear of childhood for its 
strain of gentle mirth. But wheat-sowing, like all other things : 
on earth, has its wintry days ; and when November proves damp 
and cold, the wet land gets heavy, and the children suffer. 
This had been little Mercy’s first year of dropping wheat. When 
her parents were living, Mercy never thought of being among 
the little droppers ; but they had both died of fever in ono 
year, and left their orphan child to earn her bread under the 
care of her kind old grandmother, and her uncle Jem — hei 
grandmother’s only son, who lived with his mother. Mercy had 
lived three years with her grandmother, and now she thought 
it a pleasant thing to go and work under the blue sky in the 
fresh-plowed fields ; and so it was ; but when the wintry rains 
came, the work gre w heavy for her slight strength ; her boots 
became stiff with the wet land, the chilblains settled in her feet, 
and when the dropping-time was over, little Mercy was laid up, 
unable to walk ; her greatest sorrow being, as her grandmother 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


29 


bad stated, that she could not get to the Sunday-school, where 
Miss Clifford now taught. 

O 

' The eldest of Farmer Smith’s family was a son named Wil- 
liam. William seemed to know and love every foot of land 
on the farm, every tree and every living creature there ; but 
the chief favorites were a dog called Rover, and a young horse 
named Black Beauty. Black Beauty was born and reared on 
the farm ; when a foal he followed William like a dog, and now 
he was committed to William’s care, and, though only lately 
broken in and full of spirit, William could manage him, without 
whip or rein, by the sound of his voice. The horse was a beau- 
tiful creature, and Farmer Smith would say sometimes that if 
the children had not all been so fond of the horse, he must 
have taken one of the many high offers he had had for him , 
but, as it was, he made his children’s affection for the creature 
a cover for his own, and a fair excuse for keeping him. Besides 
which, Farmer Smith knew that the last thing Mrs. Smith would 
approve, would be to see the horse led away ; and so, in conse- 
quence of all these reasons taken together, Black Beauty led an 
easy life, with none but familiar and kindly voices falling on his 
sensitive ears. Mr. Smith’s next son, Joseph, called by the fam- 
ily Joe, was very quick at his books ; therefore, his father kept 
him a year longer than he would otherwise have done, as a 
boarder at a school in the town ; but it was considered that he 
had now learned sufficient, and he was put to work on the farm. 
The younger boys were Samson and Ted. Rose, the only girl, 
was the treasure of her father’s heart, and the light of his life ; 
he had her named Rose, for that had been his mother’s name, 
and he said, “ May be, if she has the name, she may take after 
•.he nature too, and my mother was one of the best of women — 
ask the poor if that is n’t true, and I will always trust them for 
mowing what anj body is !” Little Rose grew up among the 


80 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


com, and the barley, and the sweet-scented beans — for hei hand 
was mostly in her Father’s, and her feet trotting by his side ; 
she hunted the red-cup moss in the muddy ditch, her little feet j 
at the top, while her father stood at the bottom ; hers were the 
first rosy nuts gathered from the hazel-tree, when glowing au- 
tumn came to ripen the fruits ; she called the wild birds all her 
own, and her displeasure fell on any one who dared to take the 
warm, soft nest from tree or hedge. Rose went, when very 
young, to the village day-school ; there she formed a friendship 
with little Mercy, and was learning quite enough to satisfy her t 
father; but Mrs. Smith was not so easily satisfied. Mrs. Smith t 
said they had but one girl, and she should always consider that 
they had been very much to blame if they did not give her a 3 
good education, and a boarding-school was the place to which 
she ought to be sent ; that if she were willing to part with the 
child, she did not see why Mr. Smith should object. Mr. Smith 
felt as if the sunbeam would pass from every thing, if his little 
Rose were taken from his home ; but he never opposed any 
thing on which his wife was resolved ; so Mrs. Smith made all 
the arrangements, and William drove Rose with Chestnut, the 
gig-horse, to her boarding-school. 

The strange faces and stiff ways of lue towns-people, and the 
long streets, instead of wild lanes and trees, were very dull to 
the country child ; but she learned her lessons, worked a sam- 
pler which was put in a frame, and came home at midsummer 
like a bird free from its cage. On reaching her home, Rose 
sprung from the gig into her father’s arms, — her young broth- 
ers, Samson and Ted, came out with their welcome ; Rose 
kissed them, rushed up the staircase to her mother, who had 
not expected her so soon ; then down again to speak to Molly ; 
then into the farm-yard, where she stroked Rover, and all 
the cows, who were reposing in the straw till the cow-house 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


81 


door should be opened ; then into the stable, where she threw 
her arms round Black Beauty’s neck ; and, finally, was attempt- 
ing to count the fowls, which bafiled her skill, by running one 
among another, when out came her mother at the back-door, 
saying, “ Why, child ! you run about like wild ; come in to tea, 
do.” And Rose was soon in her old place by her father’s side 
at tea. 

But this Christmas time, her second holidays, Rose had come 
with graver thoughts. A little school-fellow had died, and the 
sense of separation and death had passed, for the first time, over 
her heart. Rose did not say any thing about it, she did not know 
very well what to say ; her mother \yas a person of but few words, 
and these few were mostly quick ones ; and Rose hardly knew 
that a change had passed over her which others might observe. 
Her mother saw that she had lost her wild spirits, but still she 
was often merry, and she ran about and made snow-balls with 
her brothers ; but at other times she would sit thinking alone in 
the chimney-corner, watching the burning wood and the flame 
creeping up the great logs. She wondered where her little school- 
fellow might be ; she knew that she was somewhere — not where 
her body was laid, in the dark grave — where then was die ? Rose 
knew there were two worlds beyond the grave, one the only 
heaven, and another the dreadful hell ; to which then was her 
little school-fellow gone ? Rose could not tell. And then came 
the thought — If I should die like her, where should I go ? Rose 
felt she did not know ; and then she thought upon the words 
their minister had said, whose sermons she heard at school — ser- 
mons which even a child could understand and remember ; and 
she wished that she could think oi all he had preached about, 
and do as he had said that all who had God for their Heavenly 
Father should do ; and all these thoughts made her grave 
On the last day of the **ear Mrs. Smith was busy ironing ; 


82 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Rose had finished the little things her mother had given her to 
do, and was seated on the stool by the fire, where she remained 
for some time, quite silent. 

“ What are you thinking of, child ?” at last said her mother 

“ Why, I was thinking, mother, that I wished our minister 
here preached like the one where I go to school. I can’t under- 
stand any thing here.” 

“ How does your minister preach ?” 

“ He preaches about our Saviour, and he speaks it so plain, I 
am never tired of listening. I wish he were here.” 

“ And if he were here, you would not hear him half so often ; 
you have three times as many Sundays at school as you have at 
home ; I am sure I would not trouble about that.” 

“No, mother; but if he were here, then you and fathei 
would hear him too.” 

“ And I suppose it ’s that you always sit thinking of?” 

“ No, mother, not of that.” 

“ What is it, then ?” 

“ Why, the last Sunday before I came away from school, oui 
minister preached about, ‘ Feed my sheep,’ and ‘ Feed my lambs ; 
he said that our Saviour had told us to do so, and that it meant 
doing all we could for others — to help them for this world, and 
that good place where good people go ; and I have been think- 
ing that I don’t do any thing to help others.” 

“ Well, child, I am sure I don’t know, for I never heard that 
plain way of preaching that one could understand ; but I can’t 
see that it can belong to the like of you to be after doing for 
others. 1 think if you mind your lessons at school, and do 
what I set you to do at home, you may very well play between 
whiles, and take it easy too.” 

“ But, mother, sy many people do think about helping others, 
it ’s only I that do nothing !” 


ministering children. 


33 


- “ So many people, child ! what do you mean ? I think every 
body is for self — that is the beginning and the end with most 
that I see.” 

u That’s how it is with me, mother ; but it is not so with all ! 
When I went to spend the day with aunt Mackenzie at the 
Hall, she put up the prettiest little apple-pudding in a basin 
with a cloth over it, and sent it up to Miss Clifford ; and I 
asked her if Miss Clifford was not well, for I thought that must 
be her dinner sent up to her ; and aunt Mackenzie laughed 
and said, that was not the way to serve up ladies’ dinners ; and 
then she told me that there was a poor old woman near, dying 
of old age, and that Miss Clifford went to carry her a little pud- 
ding, which the old woman liked better than meat. I said, I 
wondered Miss Clifford did not send it, when she had so many 
servants ! and aunt Mackenzie said, It was Miss Clifford’s taking 
it that made the best part of it. She feeds herself ! and she 
said, none could think what her hand and her voice could do 
for sickness, that had not known it as she had.” 

“ Well, child, but you don’t think you could do like Miss 
Clifford, I suppose ?” 

“ No, mother, but you know you often do send something to 
sick people ; and I thought if I took it to them, perhaps they 
might like it all the better, and then I shorn i be trying to do as 
our minister said.” 

“ Well, I don’t know but what they would, if you are bent on 
being like Miss Clifford !’* 

“ No, mother, I could never be like Miss Clifford ; but I do 
sometimes think if Miss Clifford did but teach me, as she teaches 
Mercy, I might learn more of what our minister at school says.” 

“ Well, child, it’s all very well for Miss Clifford to be thinking 
about every body else, but, as I say, Miss Clifford is no rule for 
you, that I can see.” 


2 * 


84 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“No, mother, but there is Miss Mansfield in the town ; neigh 
bor Jones says that she has put Mercy into the penny club 
this year, and Miss Mansfield is younger than I am.” 

“ I dare say that was her mother’s doing ; and selling tea no 
doubt is better than sowing wheat, for it was not much of it that 
was likely to come up if the weather had held so wet as it was P* 

“ But then, mother, there is Mercy herself — when I was at 
home last midsummer, and you sent me to ask how dame Clark 
was — there was Mercy, upon the table by the window, all alone, 
with the Bible on her knee; and I asked her why she was 
there ? and she said, dame Clark had just fallen asleep, and she 
had come down to watch, for the people made such a knocking 
on the door when they wanted any thing, she was afraid they 
would wake her. And I asked her who set her to nurse dame 
Clark'? and she said, nobody set her, but that she liked to do 
it. And I asked her if it was not very dull ? and she said, that 
it was not dull at all ; that dame Clark liked her to read chap- 
ters and verses to her, and to hear her sing ; and she said 
dame Clark called her Comfort !” 

“ I always did say that Mercy was the best child in the 
parish,” replied Mrs. Smith ; “ I never look twice after her, let 
her be doing what she will up here.” 

“ But, mother, I don’t do any thing for others.” 

“ Well, child, what would you do ?” 

“ Why, yesterday, widow Lambert told me that little Johnnie 
could not leave his bed, with the chilblains in his teet ; she 
said he had quite outgrown and worn up his socks, and she 
could not make the money to buy him any more ; and I thought 
if I might but have a little of our worsted, I could knit him a 
pair of socks in my play-time.” 

“ Well, I have no objection, I am sure,” replied . Mrs. Smith. 
* but what’s the use of one pair 1” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


<<5 


r< O, mother, I could make him two pair, if I might !” 

“ Well, tc be sure, two is better than one any day !” 

“ May I begin to-day, then, mother 

“ I thought your pins were set fast with your father’s stock- 
ings, and you won’t do much more than finish then: of evenings, 
these short holidays ; but if you wish to be after the socks in 
the day, I will lend you mine, when I have finished the pair I 
um after now for Ted — but I am only in the fiist sock yet.” 

A cloud passed over the joyous look that had kindled on 
the face of little Rose, at her mother’s leave to make two pair 
of socks — when she found that she must wait days for pins ! 
but still her heart felt lighter — idle had talked with her mother 
about it, and it was not so bad as she expected. 

When Rose was gone to her pillow that night, Mrs. Smith 
said, “ I have found out what ails the child — she wants to be 
after the poor, doing for them !” 

“ Don ’t say a word against it,” replied Mr. Smith ; “ let the 
child have her way, it’s just like my mother ! she took to read- 
ing her Bible and caring for the poor, when she was quite 
young ; I have heard my grandfather say so ; and she made 
one of the best of women ; I hoped the child would take after 
her grandmother, when I named her Rose.” 


Suffer little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not; for of such is the 
kingdom of heaven.” — Mark x. 14. 


rWERY one was up early who had any thing to do on Mr. 
U Smith’s farm. Mr. Smith set all his men to work, and then 
was ready for breakfast by seven o’clock. It was the last day of 
the year on which Rose had talked to her mother about making 
the socks for little Johnnie, and on the new year’s morning, while 
setting the breakfast table by caadl e-light, she heard widow 
Jones speaking to her mother at the back-door. Rose guessed 
that widow Jones was going off to the town ; and she was right, 
it was the very day on which widow Jones received the stockings 
for Mercy from little Jane. 0, thought Rose, if I had but 
two pence, neighbor Jones would buy me a set of pins ! but I 
dare not ask mother, she would think it all waste to have two 
sets, when I can not use both at once. 0, if father would but 
come, he would give me two pence, and then mother would not 
mind, if father had given me the money for my own ! Rose 
looked from the front door out into the snowy morning ; far into 
the darkness her bright eyes searched, but no father was in 
sight. Could she ask her mother ? No ; she dare not. Yet 
perhaps her mother would for once let her have another set, as 
she was going so soon back to school ? but while she stood full 
of doubt between hope and fear, she heard her mother’s quick 
voice say, “ Well, good day. neighbor and the back door 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


37 


shut, and poor Rose’s hope was gone. William, and Rover, 
William’s dog, had just come in, both were white with the fall 
ing snow, but Rose stooped down and threw her arms round 
Rover to hide her tear?. William’s quick eye saw that his lit- 
tle sister was in trouble. “ What are you telling Rover about, 
bey, Rose ? Come, look up and tell me, there ’s no good in hid- 
ing it all in Rover’s snowy ears ; and there ’s nobody by but me.” 
“ Oh, it ’s nothing now, William,” replied Rose. “ What was it 
then ?” asked the kind brother. “ It was only that I did so 
want a set of pins, and neighbor Jones has just gone to the 
town, but they cost two pence, and I was afraid to ask mother, 
because I have one set, but they are fast with father’s stockings, 
and mother said she would lend me her’s when Ted’s socks are 
done ; but I am afraid that won’t be in time for what I want 
before I go to school ; and father did n’t come in sight, though 
I looked for him all the time that neighbor Jones stood at the 
door ! “ I should like to know why you could not have asked 

me,” said William. “ I should think I might have done as well 
as father for once, and better than Rover, but never mind now, 
I dare say it will all come right in the end.” And Rose had 
wiped away her tears with William’s red pocket-handkerchief, 
just as she heard her father shaking the snow from his feet out- 
side the door. 

While Rose was sitting between her father and William at 
breakfast, a thought came into her mind ; she knew that Mercy 
had a set of pins, and that it was very seldom that poor widow 
Jones could buy any worsted to put them in use ; perhaps she 
might not have any use for them now, and if not, she knew 
that Mercy would lend them to her ; so after dinner that day, 
Rose saidj “ Mother, it ’s fine now, may I go and call on Mercy, 
I have not seen her for a whole week ?” “ Yes,” replied her 

mothei, “ if you have a mind, only take care pud keep out of 


38 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


the snow-drifts.” So off set Rose, with the eager step of hope 
an 3 expectation; the sky was cloudless blue, and all the snow 
looked sparkling diamonds : Rose liked to feel it under her little 
feet, and the ministering child left the track of her footsteps in 
that pure untrodden snow . 

Rose knocked at widow Jones’s door, and Mercy said, “ Come 
in.” Rose opened the door, and there sat little Mercy in her 
gland mother’s old arm-chair, with her feet in another chair 
wrapped up in a thin old blanket; a few coals were left close 
by her side to keep the little fire in, a table with a cup and plate 
from which she had taken her dinner stood near her ; on the 
table lay her little Bible ; her hymn-book was in her hand. 

“ Why ! Mercy, are you ill ?” asked Rose, going up to her. 

“ No, only my feet got worse with the chilblains. I have 
kept my bed nearly a week ; but grandmother ’s gone to the 
town to-day, so uncle Jem carried me down before she went, 
that I might not feel so lonesome with no one in the house.” 

“ I wish I had known it,” said Rose ; “ are they very bad ?” 

“ No, they are getting better now, and since I have been kept 
in-doors, I have learned a whole chapter out of the Bible, and 
three short Psalms, and two hymns, and Miss Clifford came tc 
see me, and then I said some of them to her ; and grandmother 
said that was as good as going to school. I have been thinking, 
perhaps Miss Clifford will come to-day, it ’s almost a week 
since she was here, and the weather has broken out so fine !” 

“ l)o you really think Miss Clifford will come to-day ?” asked 
Rose. 

“ I seem to think she will,” replied little Mercy, “ only I don’t 
know ; but I have learnt another Psalm, perfect every word — 
and a hymn too.” 

“ Do you like going to the Sunday-school very much ?” asked 
Rose. 





p. 38. 


M. C 







MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


39 


M Yes, that I do ! and so would any one if they did but once 
get into Miss Clifford’s class,” replied Mercy. 

u I should like it, I am sure,” said Rose. 

Just then they caught a sight of the black pony of Miss 
Clifford’s groom passing the window, and the hearts of both 
the little girls beat quick as the lady entered. Miss Clifford 
spoke kindly to Rose as well as to Mercy, saying as she made 
Rose sit down beside her, “ I am afraid I have stopped some 
pleasant talk.” 

“ No, ma’am,” replied Mercy, “ Rose was only saying how she 
would like to go to the Sunday-school.” 

“ Do you really wish to come to the Sunday-school ?” asked 
Miss Clifford looking at Rose. 

“ I go to a boarding-school, ma’am and I am afraid mother 
would not let me,” replied Hose. 

“ What made you wish it ?” asked Miss Clifford ; “ Come and 
tell me.” 

Rose came within the arm so kindly opened to receive her, 
but she did not speak. 

If you could tell me why you wished it,” said Miss Clifford, 
u perhaps I could find some other way to help you, if your 
mother objects to your coming to the Sunday-school.” 

Rose answered in a low voice, “ Because I want to do as our 
Minister at school tells every body they must ; and I don’t know 
how.” 

“ What is it that your Minister tells you to do ?” asked Miss 
Clifford. 

He says, Every body must come to Jesus — and I don’t 
knosv how,” Rose answered; and the child’s large tear fell 
upon the hand that held her, and the tears of answering feel- 
ing gathered in Miss Clifford’s eyes. When Mercy saw the tears 
in Miss Clifford’s eyes, and on the cheek of Rose, sho cried 


40 


MINISTERING* CHILDREN. 


too, sho knew not why, except because she saw the tears of 
those she loved — and that alone is often cause enough for child 
hood’s weeping ; a purer, higher cause than some that after years 
too often offer. 

“ Does not your Minister tell you how to come to Jesus ?” 
asked Miss Clifford. 

“ I don’t know,” replied Rose, “ because I can’t remember 
only a little of what he says.” 

“ Will you listen to me, then, and try and understand, if I 
tell you ?” Miss Clifford asked. • 

Rose looked up in the lady’s face, and that look was assurance 
enough. 

“ Who have you come to now, while you are standing here 2” 
asked Miss Clifford. 

“ To you !” answered Rose. 

“ Yes, you have come to me ; and you have been telling me 
what you want ; and I am going to give you, if I can, the 
knowledge that you tell me you want. Now, just as you have 
come close to me, and told me what you want, so you must 
come to the Lord Jesus and tell Him. I hear you now, be- 
cause I am near you ; but Jesus is always near to you. He 
hears every word ; and whenever you speak to Him, He stoops 
down and listens to ? you say ; and He can teach you all you 
want to know, and give you all you ask Him for. Do you pray 
to Him ?” 

“ I say, 1 Our Father which art in Heaven,’ ” replied Rose : 
“ our governess said I ought : and sometimes I say other things, 
when I want them very much. Our Minister said we might ask 
for all we wanted when we pray, only governess does not know 
when I do that.” 

“ Do you tell our Saviour that you want to come to him 2” 

“ No, I don’t know how.” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


41 


tl If I write you a short prayer, do you think you could read 

it r 

“ O yes ; I can read writing a little.” 

“ Then go to the door, and ask the groom foi my basket ; 1 
have ink and paper there.” 

Rose brought the basket, and Miss Clifford wrote in a plain 
hand : — 

“O God, my Heavenly Father, I ask Thee to bow down 
thine ear and listen to my prayer. I am a little, sinful, help- 
less child ; and I want to come to Jesus, that I may be safe 
and happy for ever. 0 lead me to Jesus my Saviour ! Let 
me come to Him, that I may know and love Him and keep 
His commandments. Let me be washed from all my sins in 
the precious blood of Jesus my Saviour. And give me the 
Spirit of Jesus to dwell in my heart, that I may be Thy child, 
and live with Thee for ever. Thou hast said Thou wilt do this, if 
we ask ; and I ask Thee to do it for me, 0 my Heavenly Father, 
for the sake of my Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.” 

Miss Clifford heard Rose read the paper, then folded it 
up and gave it to her ; making her sit down by her, while she 
talked to Mercy. After a little conversation, Miss Clifford 
heard Mercy repeat her Psalm, which was said without one 
mistake ; then Mercy repeated her hymn, and Rose thought, 
as she listened, that certainly the hymn would please her 
father. After this, Miss Clifford took leave of the children, 
saying to Rose, “ I have a class of farmers’ daughters every 
Monday afternoon, at three o’clock, in my house. You are 
younger than any here, but if you would like to come, and 
your mother has no objections, I shall be very happy to receive 
you ; do you think you would like to come 

“Oh, yes, ma’am, very much,” said Rose with brightening 
color. 


42 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


u Perhaps you would like me best to ask your mother about 

itr 

“ Yes, if you please, ma’am.” 

“ Then I will ride round that way to-day, so you will not be 
kept long in suspense,” said Miss Clifford, smiling at the eager 
look on the face of Rose ; and then, with her kind “ Good- 
by !” to both children, the lady mounted her white pony, and 
was soon far away. 

“ How glad I am that Miss Clifford did come,” said Mercy, “ I 
thought she would !” 

“ How very kind she is,” said Rose. “ If mother will but let 
me go, how glad I shall be ! How I wish I knew that piece 
of poetry you said, Mercy.” 

“ It ’s a hymn,” replied Mercy ; “ have you got a book 
like mine V 

“No, I wish I had ; I learnt some pieces of poetry at oui 
school ; but father says they are too fine for him, and I dare 
not try mother ; but I think father would like what you said. 
Is it very hard to learn 

“ No, it is not hard at all ; shall I leiid you my book for a 
little while 1 Only I must learn another before Miss Clifford 
comes again.” 

“ If you will let me have it,” said Rose, “ I will try and learn 
it to-morrow, and then you shall be sure to have it back again.” 
So Mercy lent her little treasure hymn-book ; Rose put it safe 
in her pocket; then tucking the folded prayer down deep into 
her bosom, she remembered how long she had stayed. She 
had quite forgotten the pins, and no wonder — there had beer 
enough in that call on Mercy to fill her young heart ; and now * 
seeing the fire almost out, she stooped down to put on the 
shovel of coals that stood beside it ; Mercy guessed her inten 
tion, and exclaimed, “ Oh, no. not all those, only one or two- 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


43 


just to keep it in till grandmother comes ; that is all the coal 
there is, and there won’t be any warmth left for grand- 
mother !” 

“ But, Mercy, you will be froze ; you look as cold as the snow 
now.” 

u That is only because the door stands open ; it goes so bad, 
it won’t shut from outside, except by those that know how to 
humor it.” 

“ Not shut from outside !” said Rose ; “ why don’t you have a 
new one 1” 

“ That is the new door,” replied Mercy : “ the old one was all to 
pieces ; grandmother went backward and forward to steward 
Jacobs about it till she gave up hope ; and then she dreaded 
the winter so bad, with only that old door to keep it out, that 
6he went all that way to Squire Lofft himself ; she only saw 
the ladies, but they came over in their carriage, and looked at 
the door ; and then they went to steward Jacobs and gave the 
order ; and steward Jacobs was angered to think grandmother 
should have been to Squire Lofft, and the door was made of 
green wood, and it shrank all round, and now there is no keeping 
warm any how ; but Miss Clifford has found it out, and she says 
there are more ways than one of setting that right.” 

“ What will she do ?” asked Rose. 

“I don’t know,” replied Mercy; “but grandmother says that 
now it’s once in Miss Clifford’s hands it’s sure to come out 
right.” 

“ Then you won’t be cold long ?” said Rose earnestly — forget- 
ting all but the slight shiver of little Mercy. “ I ’ll see if I can’t 
make the door shut outside for me ! Only I wish I had some 
of our logs, just to make up the fire fit to be seen. But I must 
go now, or mother will scold. Come now, door, you shall shut 
for me !” Rose gave a hard pull, hut back again went the door ; 


44 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


then a gentle pull, but the moment she had let go, it flew open. 
“ Was there ever such a door ?” said Rose in despair. 

“ Never mind !” said little Mercy from within, “ never mind 
trying it any more : there ’s nobody but grandmother and uncle 
Jem can shut it from outside.” But in the heat of her dis- 
pleasure with the door, and the man who had made it, and dis- 
tress at leaving the helpless little Mercy exposed to the cold 
evening air, Rose pulled and shook the door, but pulled and 
shook in vain. Horse’s feet came down the lane, but Rose 
was still contending with the door, and did not hear them. 
It was William on Black Beauty. 

“ Hey day, little miss ! are you breaking into neighbor 
Jones’s while she is away ? She will soon be home to find 
you out.” 

“ Oh, William !” said Rose, ready to cry with her vain efforts , 
“ I am so glad it is you ! There is poor Mercy — she can’t put 
her feet to the ground with the chilblains, and not a bit of 
warmth in the fire, and I can’t shut the door !” 

“ It ’s no more use to lose patience with a door, than it is with 
a* donkey,” said William, getting down from his horse. 

“ Oh, do try to shut it !” said Rose ; “ and speak to pool 
Mercy first.” 

“ Well, Mercy,” said William, going in; “why I guess you 
could not go dropping now. Poor thing ! and is that all the 
fire you can give New-year’s day ?” 

“No, I have some coals, but I am keeping them till grand- 
mother comes in.” 

“ Let me see them. Well, to be sure — they would about fill 
the sugar-basin ! I left Jem riving wood hard enough to-day f 
and he shall feel a little of the weight of it home before long 
so don’t save up that poor handful ; there — it is all gone ! That’s 
the first coal I have put on neighbor Jones’s fire ; and I think 


I have known her years enough to have done it sooner- Now 
for the door. Well, ’tis a fashion of flitting, to be sure ! I fancy 
he that made it would learn to work better, if he had just one 
night behind it this January weat nr! A bit of string is the 
only thing that will do it.” William took from his pocket a 
ball of string ; slipping the string round the latch within, he 
drew the door quite close, and tied the string tight round the 
hook that fastened back the shutter without. Then, lifting Rose 
on Black Beauty, he gave her the rein ; the little maiden, seated 
sideways on her brother’s saddle, well at ease, pondered oh past 
events, and felt to see her folded paper was quite safe, while 
William kept even pace by her side. 

Rose was soon seated before the warm wood-fire, making the 
toast for tea, and wondering how William could manage about 
getting some logs for Mercy’s fire, when William came into the 
kitchen, and said, “ Rose, look here !” 

Rose ran to his side at the window ; there, over the cold snow, 
which lay white beneath the darkness, Jem was making his way 
home from the farm, with one of the deep farm-baskets on his 
shoulder, piled up with logs of wood. 

“ Is all that for neighbor Jones ?” asked Rose, her face beam 
mg with delight. 

“ Yes, that it is,” replied William, “ it was father piled it up 
like that ; I found him, and I told him how the poor thing sat 
shivering there, and he said he should never forgive himself if 
that orphan child perished with cold. I will say it is a pleas- 
aut thing to see father give ! I told him about the state of 
tkings I had found, and he went at once to Jem and said, ‘ I 
suppose you would not be much against carrying half-a-dozen 
of these logs home with you to-night ?’ Jem shook his head 
with a smile ; he never took it the least that father was in 
earnest, but father had piled up the basket with his own hands 


46 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


in no time, and then lie set it the next minute on Jem’s shoul- 
der, and said, ‘ There, now make the best of your way home, and 
tell your good mother I would give any lad on my farm such a 
toad as that is, if I could find any to trust as I can her son !’ 
and then father was off, as he always is when he thinks he has 
done.” Rose listened, and as she listened she slipped her hand 
into her brother’s. William felt this silent expression of the 
new-formed link between them ; he had met his little sister in 
her heart’s young sympathy, she felt she could turn to and de- 
pend on his aid, and it seemed to her he stood the nearest to her 
in the new world of feeling and effort her trembling steps had 
entered. Jem was out of sight, but Rose still watched from the 
window — as if she thought to see the dying embers on Mercy’s 
cold hearth blaze up around the new-year’s logs ; William still 
stood by his little sister, and felt and shared her joy ; the flick 
ering fire-light showed the elder and the younger face — both 
beaming with the glow of blessed charity. 

“ Where ’s Jem ?” asked Mrs. Smith, in a loud voice ; “ let 
him know I want him before he ’s off to-night.” 

“ He is off already, mother,” said William ; “ what did you 
want ?” 

“ How vexing !” exclaimed Mrs. Smith ; “ that is always the 
way — people are off just when you want them most ! Here I 
had a bottle of beer put up all ready for him to take home 
to his mother ; for how she will toil through the lanes in this 
deep snow, I can’t think.” 

“ Never mind, mother,” said William, “ I ’ll run after him ; 
don’t wait tea for me if father comes in.” William’s hat was 
on, and away he ran, and Rose still stood at the window, watch- 
ing her brother through the darkness, by the light of the snow. 

“ Tell Mercy to have a little heated right not, and let her 
grandmother go warm to rest,” shouted Mrs. Smith after Wil- 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


47 


liam u Yes, mother,” William shouted back as he ran. “ Ah !” 
thought little Rose, “ what would have been the use of mother 
sending that message, if William and I had not seen to the fire !” 
William overtook Jem almost at the cottage-door, and deliver 
ing the bottle of beer and the message, he returned to the farm. 
Jem, with a thankful heart, stowed away the wood, made up 
the fire, set little Mercy carefully in another chair, fhat hi* 
mother’s might look ready for her to sit down in at once ; set 
out the frugal meal, put the tin mug in readiness to heat the 
beer, and then, sitting down upon the stool, which was his usua’ 
seat, took little Mercy’s feet carefully on his knees ; that, as ho 
said, they might feel a bit of comfort from the fire too. 

Meanwhile poor widow Jones was toiling along the snowy 
lanes ; turning at last the longed-for corner, she suddenly caught 
sight of the ruddy glow, cast by the blazing wood-fire through 
the large casement on the snow. “ And what ’s the matter now 
6aid widow Jones to herself, as she hastened on with quicker 
steps and beating heart ; “ sure the child has not set herself 
afire and the old place too !”■ — the thought of a warm glowing 
hearth having been kindled up was too great an improbability 
to enter widow Jones’s mind. At last her hand was on the 
latch, and in a moment more she saw the picture of comfort — 
the two she loved more than life, the logs of burning wood, the 
arm-chair waiting for her, the little supper-table set ready ! 

“ There ’s mother !” said Jem, and starting up, he laid little 
Mercy’s feet gently upon the stool where he had been nursing 
them, and took his mother’s old umbrella and basket from her 
hand. Widow Jones, overcome with fatigue, exhaustion, and 
surprise, sank down into her arm-chair, while Jem poured some 
beer from the black bottle into the tin mug, and set it on the 
side of the burning log to heat, and cutting off a piece of bread, 
he knelt down before, the fire to make some toast to put into it 


48 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Well, I never thought to find the like of this,’ said widow 
Jones, at last. “ Where in the world did you manage to get 
firewood and beer ?” 

“That’s all master’s and mistress’ goodness,” replied Jem; 
“ but never mind that, mother, till you have taken a sip of beer, 
and got a little life into you.” 

But fridow Jones could not wait. “ Bless them for it !” she 
said, fervently ; and then, taking up her basket from the table 
where Jem had set it down, she went on to say, in a livelier 
tone, “ Here, Mercy, child, I have a rare surprise for you ; if you 
are not to run about with warm feet at last, I don’t know who 
is ; look you here !” And pair after pair of warm stockings, all 
mended and folded, and given by the hand of little Jane, were 
piled up on widow Jones’s knee. 

“ Oh, granny ! what, all for me ?” said Mercy, as she stretched 
out both hands to receive one pair, and feel its warmth. And 
then, while she unfolded pair after pair, widow Jones told the 
history of all : Jem opened both his eyes and mouth to listen, 
. saying, as his mother ended, “ Why ! the world is warm ail over 
to-day, out here in the country, and down there in the town 1” 

But the beer in the tin mug began to boil, and the toast to 
put into it had long been made ; so widow Jones and her son 
Jem and her little grand-daughter began, with thankful hearts 
and hungry appetites, to partake of their simple fare. 

At the farm, Mr. Smith had come in by the back door, and 
William returned by the front, and they all sat down to tea. 

“ What ’s this ?” asked Rose, as she took a long, thin parcel 
from under her plate. 

“ You had better look and see,” said William ; “ it seems you 
have the best right to it.” 

“ There is no direction upon it,” said Rose. “ Mother, shall 
I open it ?” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


49 




“ Well, I suppose there is not much use in keeping it shut,” 
replied Mrs. Smith. 

Rose opened it slowly and carefully ; “ O my pins ! my pins !” 
she exclaimed, “ mother, was it you ? Did you tell neighbor 
Jones ?” 

“ Tell neighbor Jones — no ; what should I have to tell her ?” 

“ You had better ask Rover,” whispered William, “ he knows 
more abc ut it than mother.” Rose laugl ed at this : “ 0, Wil- 
liam, how glad I am ! did you tell neighbor Jones ?” 

“ No, not I. You seem to think no one has the sense to buy 
a set of pins but neighbor Jones ?” 

“ You did not go after them yourself, did you ?” asked Rose. 

“ You had better ask Rover about it,” replied William, “ he 
has the most right to answer, seeing you told him first in the 
morning.” So Rose was provided with her set of pins — four 
bright steel pins — and to-morrow she could begin little 
Johnnie’s socks. 

Rose had now only one anxiety, and that one was, to know 
whether her mother had given leave for her to go up to Miss 
Clifford’s class of fanners’ daughters at the Hall ; but she couid 
not venture to ask ; so she took the long stocking she was 
knitting for he%father, and sat down on her stool in the chimney 
corner to her evening’s work ; William went out to see after the 
cattle, Mr. Smith sat down to rest by the fire in his old-fashioned 
arm-chair, Mrs. Smith took her knitting at the table, Joe sat by 
the same table deeply occupied with a book of travels he had 
lately met with, and Samson sat down in the opposite chimney- 
conier to Rose ; little Ted was gone to rest for the night. 

At last Mr. Smith said, “Did I see Miss Clifford cioss the 
drift this afternoon ?” 

“ She was there,” replied Mrs. Smith, “ whether you saw her 

or not.” 


3 


50 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


•* She did not call, I suppose, did she ?” again inquired Mr 
Smith. Rose looked up, unable to knit another stitch from 
anxiety. 

“ Yes, that she did,” replied Mrs. Smith, “ she came to ask 
Rose to a class of farmers’ daughters held at the Hall. I told 
her that I thanked her all the same, but I always had kept ray^ 
self to myself, and I meant that Rose should do the same.” 

“ Must not I go then, mother ?” asked Rose.” 

“ Ho, child ; I told Miss Clifford so, and she does not expect 
it now.” 

Rose laid down her knitting, and hiding her face in her 
pinafore, cried and sobbed. 

Mr. Smith did not say a word, but he got up, took his hat, 
and went out for his last round in the farm-yard, unable to bear 
the sight of the child’s grief which he felt he could not com- 
fort. Mrs. Smith knitted on, and Rose went on crying, while 
Samson spread out both his hands nearer and nearer over the 
fire, as if he did not quite know what he was doing. 

“ There, child, leave off crying, do !” at last said Mrs. Smith. 
“ What ’s the use of taking on so because you can not go up to 
the Hall ? What ’s the use of a boarding-school, I should like 
to know, if you have not lessons enough there^without going 
up to the Hall after them ?” But poor Rose was in no readi- 
ness to explain any feeling just then to her mother, she only 
cried on. 

“ Now, Rose, leave off crying directly !'’ said hei mother 
Rose tried to keep back her tears, and went on slowly with her 
knitting; meanwhile, Samson had slipped out, and in a few 
minutes William came in and took Samson’s place in the 
opposite chimney-corner to Rose. He stretched out his wet feet 
and cold hands to the fire, and said in a low tone, “ Rose I have 
a secret to tell you,” but poor Rose did not look up. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


51 


u O, I see how it is,” said William, “ there is nobody but 
Rover will do, you began with him this morning, and by what 
I can see you mean to end the same. Here, Rover, go to Rose, 
she has something to tell you, I guess she is for sending poor 
neighbor Jones off for some worsted to the town, but she will 
tell you all about it ; go, sir, go.” Rover looked up at his mas- 
ter, wagging his tail, and then went and looked up at Rose — as 
if by way of inquiry. “ O, William, how can you talk so!” 
said Rose, too full of sorrow still to laugh, “ I don’t want you, 
Rover, go away.” 

Poor little Rose ! her day had begun with tears, and for 
awhile it seemed likely to end with the same ; and so it often 
is, that when we try to walk in the narrow way that leadeth to 
everlasting life, we find that tears are there as well as smiles — 
but the tears in that narrow way water its fair flowers, and 
make them grow the faster. After awhile, Mr. Smith came in 
again, Rose knew it was almost her bed-time, and she thought 
it would be pleasant just to hear what William’s secret was, so 
she went nearer to him and said, “ What secret do you know 
William ?” “ Why,” said William, “ I have thought of a way 

to keep up the fire on neighbor Jones’s hearth all this whole 
winter !” 

“ O, Will, have you ? what is it ?” 

u Why, it was only this morning that father was asking me 
ivho he should give a job of hedging and ditching to. I said 
hen, ‘ We had better think who we can best spare to take it 
out I have been thinking this evening, that it would be as well 
to consider who stands most in need of it, and I am pretty sure 
that will be Jem ; and then he will have all the wood he cuts 
away, and that will go far to keep a fire on their hearth all the 
winter.” 

“ Ho you think father is sure to let him have it ?” asked Rose 


62 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Yes, I am sure lie will, if I say only two words about it 
Jem has not been put to it before, but I never saw the thing 
yet that he did not finish off as well as a man, and better than 
many men, because his mind is always in the thing he is after.” 

So little Rose went to her pillow with thoughts of Jem hedg- 
ing and ditching, and the blazing fire kept up on widow Jones’s 
hearth, and sympathy’s warm light drank up the mist of sad- 
ness, and, having offered up the lady’s prayer, she laid down hor 
head and was soon asleep. 




CHAPTER V. 


“So then foith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God.” — Bom. x. 17 , 

rTlHE next morning, Rose thought again of Miss Clifford, and 
"*■ her lost hope of going to the class at the Hall ; she sighed 
once or twice while she was dressing ; *but she had her little 
treasured prayer, and that comforted her; she had also her 
pins, and Mercy’s hymn-book, from which to learn the hymn 
that she thought would please her father ; so she ran down 
stairs with a cheerful step, and was soon engaged preparing the 
breakfast. After breakfast, the boys helped clear the table ; 
Mrs. Smith went off to the dairy ; and Rose began her morn- 
ing’s work. First, she made up the fire ; then she washed the 
cups and saucers, mugs and plates, from the breakfast-table, and 
put them away ; after this, she swept up the farm-house kitchen, 
the room they always occupied ; and then, with her little can of 
wheat, went out to feed the fowls ; — quite unconcerned at snow 
or freezing wind, she stood in the stone-yard, which was always 
swept early, and scattered the grain round her, while the hun- 
gry fowls came flying over the low wall at the sound of her 
voice to pick it up ; and the little birds peeped down from the 
bare branches of the old ash-tree that stood beside the low wall, 
watching till Rose should throw them a distant handful, 
which she never failed to do, looking up with a special call 
meant only for them — and then down flew on lighter wing the 
little birds of the air, while Rose stood a watcher between them 


54 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


and the fowls of the farm, guarding the rights of both. After 
this, Rose went with her mother to set the upper rooms in or- 
der ; and then, for the most part, her household work was done ; 
but, on churning days, and baking days, and washing days, and 
ironing days, there was more to be accomplished, and sometimes 
Rose was busy with her mother nearly the whole day ; but this 
was neither churning, nor baking, nor washing, nor ironing day, 
and Rose had done all, and put on her clean pinafore, by a little 
after eleven o’clock. 

And now her time was her own, to employ as she liked ; and 
she might begin her socks ; but she must ask her mother for 
the promised worsted*, and, she thought, perhaps her mother 
might be angry with her still, for crying the night before ; but 
if she did not ask, she could not begin poor little Johnnie’s 
socks. Had she not better learn her hymn out of Mercy’s 
book, and then she need not ask her mother at present ? Yes, 
but Rose knew that when she had set her sock on, and counted 
the stitches, she could knit and learn too ; and poor Johnnie had 
no socks to his feet; so she went to her mother, and asked, 
“ Mother, may I have that worsted for Johnnie Lambert’s socks 
now ?” Mrs. Smith had looked many times at her little daugh- 
ter ; she had seen her pale with the last night’s crying, yet busy 
all the morning, a little grave, but pleasant still in all she did 
or said ; she remembered how the child had wished she could 
learn of Miss Clifford, and she began to think whether she had 
done right in refusing ; but Mrs. Smith never liked to give up 
her own way, and she had yet to learn that “ a man’s pride shall 
bring him low, while honor shall uphold the humble in spirit 
but when her little girl asked in fear and trembling for the 
worsted, Mrs. Smith replied, “ Yes, child, to be sure, did n’t I 
tell you you might ? It ’s in the drawer ; you may take what 
you want, and wind it at once ” 


May I make two pair then, mother ?” asked Rose, gathering 
courage. 

“ Yes, to be sure, if you make one ; one pair is n’t much use 
alone.” 

So Rose ran off for her worsted ; she knew exactly the right 
size, and how many stitches to set on ; she opened Mercy’s little 
hymn-book on the chimney-corner, hung the skein on the back 
of her father’s arm-chair, and was just beginning to wind her 
worsted and learn her hymn, when her father passed the window 
and came in at the front door ; he took off his great coat and 
hat, all white with the fresh-falling snow, and came in for a rest 
and a warm. 

“ Well, little girl, busy as possible ; that ’s all right ; never 
mind being tired with work, so long as you are never tired with 
idleness ; work well, and rest well, that ’s my maxim ; but idle 
work, and idle rest, I should like to know what ’s the good they 
ever did to any body ? What are you after now ?” 

u 0, father, you can hold my worsted, while I wind ; it gets 
tangled up on the chair. I am going to make some socks for 
poor little Johnnie Lambert ; he has not a bit of sock to his 
feet ; mother says I may make him two pair.” 

“ That won’t do you, nor mother, nor Johnnie Lambert any 
harm, I guess ! What book have you got open there ? Are 
you so hard put to it for time that you must do two things at 
once ? That is not, for the most part, the best way.” 

“ No, father, but that is Mercy’s book ; she lent it to me to 
learn a hymn, and she wants the book ; so I told her I would 
learn it to-day, if I could, and take it back to her.” 

“ And have you not books enough without Mercy’s ! I should 
have thought you might ; I know I paid eleven shillings down 
this last half-year for books and such like things, and yet it 
6eems you have to come to Mercy after all — whose schooling 


66 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


never cost a single bit of gold ; that is what comes of boarding- 
school expenses, I see.” 

“ No, father , but what I learn at school are pieces of poetry 
that are not any use at home, because you say they are too fine 
for you ; so I thought I would just learn such a beautiful hymn, 
that Mercy said out of her book to Miss Clifford, and see if you 
did not like that ; only you hear it, father !” Rose took up the 
book, and, standing at her father’s knee, she read : — 

44 By cool Siloam’s shady rill, 

How sweet the lily grows ! 

How sweet the breath beneath the hill 
Of Sharon’s dewy rose 1 

11 Lo I such the child whose early feet 
The paths of peace have trod ; 

Whose secret heart, with influence sweet, 

Is upward drawn to God I 

“ By cool Siloam’s shady rill, 

The lily must decay ; 

The rose that blooms beneath the hill 
Must shortly fade away. 

“ 0 Thou, whose early feet were found 
Within Thy Father’s shrine — 

Whose years with changeless virtue crowned 
Were all alike divine ; — 

44 Dependent on Thy bounteous breath — 

We seek Thy grace alone; 

In childhood, manhood, age, and death, 

To keep us still Thine own.” 

The father listened, then took the book and said, “ Let me 
see it and, looking at the first verse, read aloud the words, 
44 4 Of Sharon’s dewy rose !’ — that was what your grandmother 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


51 


would often speak about when any one took notice of hei 
name.” 

“ I know, father, for our Minister preached about that, and 
governess always makes us learn the text when we come home ; 
it ’s in the Bible, ‘ I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the 
valley and our Minister said it meant our Saviour.” 

“ Oh, child, how like you are to my mother ! I never knew 
that was in the Bible, though I have heard her speak about it 
so often ! I suppose I did not take so much notice then ; she 
would have been pleased enough if I had thought about some 
of her words then as I do now ; but I can not remember many 
of Jhem now, only I would give any thing to have you like 
her. Do you think you could find where that is in the Bible 
about the rose of Sharon ?” 

“ No, father, I can’t tell where to find any thing in the Bible, 
because I have not got one. Mercy has one of her own.” 

“ What then did I pay down that eleven shillings for, if you 
have not so much as got a Bible ?” 

“ I did ask our governess, father, but she said that it was not 
her business to get me a Bible ; — that if I wanted one, I 
must ask you for that, and I thought I would before I went to 
school again.” 

“ Sure enough you shall have one ! I don’t know that my 
mother ever had any books except her Bible and her prayer- 
book, and she had learning enough to make her one of the best 
of women, and how should you ever be like her if you have not 
so much as a Bible to look into ! I will see to it next market- 
day, you may rest sure of that, and now I must be off again.” 

And the happy child sat down to her knitting, and her hymn ; 
but how often did she cease to murmur the sweet words, while 
her thoughts were gone to her promised Bible. 

“Ther% child,” said her mother, coming in with a couple of 


58 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


pair of old socks in her hand, “ if you take my advice, you will 
mend up those old soft socks first for widow Lambert’s boy , 
they won ’t be so stiff to his feet ; if they are as bad as you say, 
he would hardly bear the new ones for a time yet.” 

“ 0 yes, mother ; and then if I mend them on this snowy day I 
can take them to-morrow !” So when dinner was over, and cleared 
away, Rose still went on darning, and learning, till the light of 
the short day began to fade, and it was time to set the tea. 

Rose whispered to William in the evening, “ What did father 
say about Jem ?” 

“ 0, it ’s all right enough,” replied William ; “ Jem’s to begin 
to-morrow, and he looks as great as a prince about it. I called 
in this morning to hear how neighbor Jones was, after her 
walk in the snow ; Mercy was on her feet ; Miss Mansfield had 
sent her some warm stockings that had set her up again. Jem 
had been in to tell his mother the news about his getting the 
hedging and ditching, and she said she was thankful enough, 
but she knew it was all that blessed child’s doing, who would 
not rest while the widow and the orphan were cold !” 

“ Who did she mean, Will ?” 

“ Why, you, to be sure !” 

“ But it was not I ; it was^you, Will, that did that.” 

“ No, Rose, I am afraid I should never have thought of it, had 
it not been for your taking on so about Mercy’s fire ; but now 
we have begun ’tis likely to go on well for them, I hope.” 

The next was a bright winter’s day, the heavens were clear 
and all the earth looked white and beautiful ; within the house 
Rose was as busy as a bee among the flowers of spring. This 
was baking-morning , Rose peeled apples for pies and turnovers, 
filled little round tartlets with jam, and washed over the tops 
of the loaves with a feather dipped in beer, to make them brown 
and shining. No play-time, no work for Johnnie Lambert that 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


69 




morning, but Rose had finished darning the soft socks the day 
before. When baking was over, her mother # gave her two large 
rosy apples, but she slipped them both into her pocket— one for 
Mercy, and one for little Johnnie Lambert. 

After dinner, Rose had her mother’s leave to take the socks 
she had mended to Johnnie Lambert. “Are you going any 
where else, child V” asked her mother. 

“ Only to take Mercy back her hymn-book, mother.” 

“ I thought it was likely you were going there ; you may take 
her one of those apple turnovers you made this morning, if you 
have a mind ; I dare say she gets little more than bread, and not 
too much of that ; it must be a hard matter for the old woman 
to make out this winter time.” Rose lifted her beaming face to 
her mother, who stuffed turnover and socks into a basket ; and 
off set the ministering child, pressing with light step the soft 
and sparkling snow. 

First to Johnnie Lambert’s, under the hill. His mother was 
seated at work, patching up Johnnie’s frock, while the poor little 
fellow was wrapped up in her cloak by the fire. Rose found 
ready entrance. “ Look, Johnnie, see ! I have brought you 
two pair of soft warm socks ; won ’t you soon run about now ?” 

“ Well, I am sure ! who would have thought of seeing socks 
on you, Johnnie ?” said his mother. 

“ I am knitting him new ones, and they will be done before 
I go to school,” said Rose. “And there’s an apple for ycu. 
Johnnie !” 

“ Look, mother, look !” said little Johnnie, who understood 
the pleasure of an apple, more than the comfort of warm socks 
— to which his little feet had been strangers quite long enough 
for him to forget them. Many a sweet golden apple had Rose 
gathered from their orchard-trees, but never one before had 
given her so much pleasure as this — while she looked at the 


60 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


little chilblain prisoner, wrapped up in liis mother’s cloak his 
face all one glad smfle at this autumn treasure come in winter’s 
depth to cheer him. 

Then on went the happy child — lightly along the snowy lanes 
as the bird that glides over the summer lawn, her basket in her 
hand, her little shawl pinned round her, and her face glowing 
with the healthful breath of the frosty air , up the hill side, then 
along the winding lane, to widow Jones’s door. At the door she 
stood still in amazement ; it was new all over, and fitted so close 
that not one cold blast of wind could possibly make its way in, 
to get itself a warm at the winter fire. At last Rose knocked 
with some hesitation, but the new door was quickly opened, and 
Mercy stood before her. 

“ Why, Mercy, how quick you have got a new door ! Did 
Miss Clifford do that V ’ 

“ Yes, that she did ; it ’s hardly been up an hour yet, and it 
goes as well as a door can go ; and grandmother’s out, and she 
does not know a word about it, and I have had nobody to tell. 
I am so glad you ’re come ! Grandmother will be so surprised, 
she won’t know the place ; just you come and feel how warm it 
is by the fire now ; and look here, only look !” and Mercy’s little 
hand drew out to view a dark crimson curtain, hung by rings 
on a strong cord, behind widow Jones’ old arm-chair, between 
the fire and the back door. Rose looked in silent admiration 
from the new door to the thick sheltering curtain, then back 
again to the new door. 

“ But Miss Clifford could not bring the door 1” said Rose, un- 
able still to take the mystery in. 

“ O no, I will tell you all about it. I was sitting here all 
alone, so warm on one side by the fire you made us ; and so 
cold the other, for the wind drove in piercing ; and I heard a 
great lumbering outside, so I went to look, and there was car- 



60 . 



















MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


61 


penter Mason with his man and cart, and this new door. He 
said he heard that there was some little fault about the other, 
and so he brought a new one ; and while he was doing it Miss 
Clifford came, and carpenter Mason took great notice of the 
least word she said ; and she asked him to drive those ’two big 
hooks into the wall ; and he took a deal of pains, and said he 
had made them both fast in a beam ; and that beautiful curtain 
was rolled up on the groom’s saddle, and carpenter Mason hung 
it up, and drew it himself behind grandmother’s chair ; and 
when he was gone, Miss Clifford said that I might tell grand- 
mother that the curtain came from her room — where some new 
ones had been put up. I am sure I can’t think what grand- 
mother and uncle Jem will say when they come home ? The 
draught from that back-door used to blow the candle-flame all on 
one side, so that it was no use to try and burn one on windy even- 
ings ; but now, what with the new door, and the curtain, and the 
warm fire, we shall not know how to be comfortable enough !” 

After a little more admiration and conversation, Rose opened 
her basket, and said, “ See what mother has sent you ! We 
baked to-day, and I made that turnover, and I brought you that 
big apple ! Shall we set the table together ?” 

Mercy willingly agreed and the small round table was set out 
to the best effect, the turnover in the middle ; then Mercy also 
agreed that Rose should put on another log, to make a real good 
fire for once ; and Rose filled the kettle, and hung it over the 
fire to boil — for little Mercy was still lame ; and then the chil- 
dren looked round on all with entire satisfaction, and, saying 
« Good by” to each other, Mercy waited within, in glad expecta- 
tion of the happy surprise of her grandmother, and uncle Jem; 
while Rose ran swiftly home to tell them all the welcome tidings 
of the new door and the warm curtain. 

The next day farmer Smith and his son William went off tn 


32 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


the market ; and all day long Rose thought upon the promised 
Bible ; the hour for her father’s return came, but Rose could not 
watch, she must prepare the tea and make the toast ; but pres- 
ently she heard his cheerful voice in the back kitchen, saying, 
u Well, wife, it ’s cold enough !” and then his hat was hung on 
the peg in the passage, and the whip set down in the corner by 
the hat, and his next step was in at the kitchen door , down 
went the toast, and Rose was at her father’s side. 

“ Well, my little girl,” said her father, with his kindest smile, 
“ all safe and right — Chestnut, and William, and father, and 
Bible, and all !” and he drew the precious book from his inside- 
pocket, and placed it in the hands of his child. Rose took it 
with trembling joy, the gilt edges of its leaves all sparkled in 
the fire-light blaze. “ Oh father, is this mine ?” she asked. 

“ Yes, to be sure it is,” said her father ; and then, laying his 
hand upon her head, he said in the solemn tone of prayer, “ Mv 
mother’s God give thee his blessing with it !” 

The past excitement of hope and expectation through the day, 
and now her hope fulfilled, and the voice of prayer — heard for 
the first time by Rose from her father’s lips — prayer of which 
her Minister at school had said so much ! all these mingled feel- 
ings overcame the little girl ; she threw her arras round her 
father’s neck and sobbed : he pressed her to his heart, and the 
first tear he had shed since he had wept for his mother, fell on 
the head of his child. 

Rose heard her mother’s step, and at the sound her arms un- 
clasped from her father’s neck, she folded up her precious Bible, 
and sat down again to finish the toast. William smiled a know- 
ing smile at her when he came in, and whispered, w It was I 
who helped father to choose you such a beauty of a book !” 
But it was not its purple cover, it was not its gilt edges, that 
had made the hand of little Rose tremble with joy. No, it was 

3 * 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


83 


that she held at last her own Bible — the Book from which she 
had heard the Minister preach such sweet words — words that 
had already taught her to know and love her Saviour. Before 
tea, Rose showed her treasure to her mother, who said, she 
hoped Rose was not going to take such a book as that to be 
worn shabby at school ! But her father replied, that he bought 
it for her to have always with her ; for that, he believed, was 
the use of a Bible ! So Mrs. Smith said no more, and Rose, 
relieved from all apprehension of separation, carried her treasure 
up with her that night to bed. 

The next day was Sunday, and after breakfast, while Mrs. 
Smith was still busy in the back-kitchen, Rose sat down on her 
father’s knee by the fire. She had been thinking of how her 
father had said, when he gave her the Bible, “ My mother’s 
God give thee His blessing !” and now, putting her arm round 
his neck, she asked, “ Father, why did you say, My mother’s 
God — is not God your God !” 

“ I don’t know, Rose,” replied her father. 

“Then, father, won’t you ask God to be your God? Our 
Minister says, that God will do all good things that we ask Him 
for ; and I know it is so, because I asked Him that mother 
might let me do something to help others, as our Minister said 
we should, and then mother did. And I asked that I might 
have a Bible of my own, and now I have. So, won’t you ask, 
father ?” 

“ Yes, Rose, I hope I shall. I don’t feel comfortable never 
reading the Bible with you children. I should like to have 
family prayers as my mother used, but I don’t know what has 
become of the book of prayers she used ; I am afraid it ’s alto 
gether lost : and our Minister here is not one that you can speak 
to about that sort of til ing, for he has never spoken a word te 
me about it himself!” 


64 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


“ Oh, but father, our Minister at school says that we may pray 
to God in words from our own hearts ; and I tried, and I found 
it was right !” 

“ Well, Rose, I don’t know, for I have not tried it yet ; but 
I do know it ’s the thing that ought to be done, and I will talk 
to your mother ; for there is nothing like to-day. My mother 
used to say, ‘ To-day, William, not to-morrow !’ I have found 
it a good rule for this world, and it is not likely to be worse for 
the next.” 

“ No, father, to-day must he right, for that is what we say 
every Sunday in the Psalm at church, ‘ To-day if ye will hear 
His voice, harden not your hearts !’ ” 

As they walked to church that morning, their children being 
on before, Mr. Smith said to his wife, “ Do you know where my 
mother’s Bible is ?” 

“ Yes, to be sure, I locked it up to keep it safe from the chil- 
dren.” 

“ I wish you would look it out then ; for I feel I have been 
very wrong to neglect it so : a locked-up Bible is a bad witness 
against me, I should wish we should read it every day with 
the children — have family prayers I mean, morning and even- 
ing, as they do at the Hall, for I know there is but one Way 
alike for all.” 

“ Well, I think it was a pity you did not consider of it from 
the first ; I never can see the use of changes — it ’s nothing more 
than saying, We have been wrong all along before !” 

“ And so we have, wife, and all the shame lies in the wrong 
thing — not in trying to do the right : and are we not always 
telling our people that they must make a change, and do better 
by us ? And if they never see us take a step in the good way 
they may well think what ’s the need for them to change ? for 
you may be sure they are well aware we are not all we ought to 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


65 


be yet ; but if they see us doing better than before, may be they 
will think it time to begin to consider their own ways, before it 
be too late.” 

# 

“ Well, I am sure I don’t understand it, so you must do as you 
please ; that is all I have to say.” 

That afternoon when Mr. Smith went into his little parlor, 
his mother’s Bible had been laid, by his wife, on the table : he 
took it in his hand — the lamp that had lighted his steps to the 
kingdom of Heaven ! — he opened it — he saw the well-worn 
leaves — he could not read the words, for his eyes were dim with 
tears ; but kneeling down, he took it for his own— his lamp in 
life — his guide to Heaven. 

That evening, when they were all assembled, farmer Smith 
sent Rose to the parlor to fetch her grandmother’s Bible ; he 
took it from her hands and said, “ My boys, you doif’t know this 
Bible, but I know it well ; it was your grandmother’s, and it has 
been my sin that you have not known it as long as you have 
known any thing. It guided your grandmother to Heaven ; she 
never looked on any thing as she looked on this book. I have 
heard her talk to it and say, “ My blessed Bible, my comforter, 
my guide to Heaven’s gate — how I thank God for you !” and 
then she would say to me, ‘ My son, bind the words of this book 
as chains about thy neck, write them on thine heart,.’ Ah ! my 
mother, I have not done so ! but I trust, by God’s help, I shall ; 
and see to it, my boys, that you lay up its words in your hearts, 
that it may lead you to a better world than this.” 

Then Molly was called in, and took her seat, and farmer Smith 
read the first Psalm. “ Let us pray,” then said the father, and 
all knelt down, while, with a trembling voice, he offered up his 
prayer; 

O God, pardon our manifold sins. Pardon, 0 God, our neg- 
lect of Thy Word. May the Bible be from this time our de 


66 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


light. We thank Thee for Thy mercy ; we thank Thee foi 
Thy patience ; we thank Thee for Thy goodness. 0 God, bless 
our children ; bless our servants ; and take care of us this night, 
for the love of Thine only Son our Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.” 

The next morning, when farmer Smith came in to breakfast, 
Mrs. Smith had laid the Bible ready for him. Molly was called 
in ; the yard-boy was set in the back kitchen, that no one might 
make a disturbance, and Mrs. Smith failed not to say to him, 
“ You may keep near the passage here ; you will be none the 
worse for hearing!” The father read the second Psalm, and 
prayed again. 

“ 0 God, we thank Thee for the night : we thank Thee for 
safety and rest. 0 God, take care of us this day ; keep us from 
all evil ; teach us to please Thee. O God, bless us all ; and 
make us to lemember and love Thy Word, through Jesus Christ 
our Saviour. Amen.” 

From that day, morning and evening prayers were always 
heard in farmer Smith’s dwelling. 

Rose could not finish the socks for little Johnnie Lambert till 
the day before that on which she was to return to school ; she 
could not hope to be spared to take them, because it was time 
for her things to be packed up ; so after dinner she said, w Mo- 
ther, I have finished little Johnnie’s last sock ; will you please 
give them to widow Lambert when you see her ?” 

“ And why not take them yourself, child ?” 

“ I thought you would want me, mother, for packing my 
clothes.” 

“ 0, 1 can see to that ; it is n’t likely when you have worked 
up all your playtime into socks for a barefoot child, that I should 
hinder you from the sight of them on his feet. I have found 
you up an old pair of Ted’s boots, for I dare say the child’s are 
as much to pieces as they are together, and there ’s no use in his 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


67 

wearing out your work as soon as you have done it, for want of 
a pair of boots to cover it.” 

So away went the ministering child, with her own hand tc 
draw on the socks of the fatherless boy, and to see him stoop 
down and feel them with his little fingers, while the tear of 
thankfulness glistened in his mother’s eye. Rose took a fare- 
well of Mercy, and then hastened home. And when she turned 
the corner of the road, there, on the top of the green slope at the 
garden-gate of the farm, was Miss Cli fiord on her white pony, 
and David her groom holding his black pony at her side. Rose 
longed to run home for fear Miss Clifford should be gone ; but 
she did not like Miss Clifford to see her running, so she walked 
down the hill to the bridge, and then began as fast as she could 
to climb the green slope. Miss Clifford was talking to Mrs. 
Smith, but she saw Rose coming, and wishing Mrs. Smith 
“ Good day,” she rode down the slope and met the child. 

“ I heard from Mercy that you were going back to school,” 
said Miss Clifford, “ so I called to wish you good-by, and to 
bring you a little hymn-book like Mercy’s, for she tells me that 
you have no hymn-book, and were pleased with her’s ; there it 
is, I have written your name and mine in it ; so now there will 
be no fear of forgetting each other — will there?” Rose took 
the book from Miss Clifford’s hand, and curtsied to the very 
ground, while her eyes told her young heart’s gladness. Then 
with a parting smile on the little girl, Miss Clifford raised Snow- 
flake’s rein, and in a moment more she was cantering up the 
opposite hill, while Rose ran with her treasure to her mother. 
Mrs. Smith was greatly pleased at Miss Clifford’s call and pres- 
ent to Rose, aftei her refusal about the class ; and the last 
evening of th.e little girl’s holidays was soothed by the tender- 
ness of all in her home, and so went the ministering child bach 
again to her school in the town. 



CHAPTER VI. 

“IIow much better is it to get wisdom than gold? and to get understanding rather 
to be chosen than silver.” — P kovekbs xvi. 16. 

HERE is Herbert ?” asked Mr. Clifford, on sitting down to 
the dinner-table one day, as the month of January was 
drawing to a close. “ Mr. Herbert came in late, sir, and will soon 
be down,” said a servant in waiting. Herbert quickly entered, 
with glowing cheeks, “ I am very sorry to be late, mamma, but 
papa will not mind when I tell him what has hindered me ! I 
know, papa, you thought I never should be charitable, but I 
shall ; I have taken up with it at last, and capital fun it is !” 
“ Indeed,” replied Mr. Clifford, “ Charity, having to do with the 
wants, and often with the sorrows of others, is not generally 
associated with fun ; but it is always pleasant to hear of charity, 
so after dinner we shall call on you for an account.” 

“ O, papa ! you take things in such a serious way, it puts out 
all the fun in no time ! but I will tell you, papa, and I am sure 
you will say I could not but do as I did.” So when the dessert 
was on the table, Herbert began. “ Now, papa, for my story. 
I had been skating, and I thought I should be late home, so to 
save myself the corner of the road, I just cut across old Willy 
Green’s garden. I leaped the ditch, and as I stopped a minute 
to recover breath, I saw Willy Green sitting on a trunk of a 
cree, on the edge of his garden ditch, a little lower down. I 
thought, as he had seen me come in, in that sort of way, I must 
stop and speak to him ; so I said, well, Willy, you won’t take 



MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


69 


me up for trespassing, you know at least I am an honest lad ! 
but he did not speak a word, he only shook his head, and sat 
panting for breath. I was frightened enough then, for I be- 
lieved he was going to die, and I alone with him there ! So I 
said, Do you feel ill, Willy ? Aftei a minute he managed to 
speak, and then he said, ‘ O, master, I been after riving a bit of 
firewood, and I thought my breath would never come again !’ 
And there was his hatchet wedged in the old tree, and he had 
not had the strength to get it out again. I soon pulled it out 
for him, and then I asked him how he could think of trying at 
what he had no strength for ? and he said he had been perished 
with cold the last night, and laid shivering for hours ; so he 
thought he would try after a few chips, just to make a blaze 
and get a little warmth into him, but that it had almost cost 
him his life’s end.” Herbert saw the tears fill his sister’s eyes, 
so he made haste to what he thought the best part of the story. 
'‘Well, papa, I had spent the last of my money on a new- 
fashioned riding-whip, but I remembered that my next month’s 
allowance would be mine in a week, and a week would be quite 
soon enough to pay for some coals, if I had them sent in to old 
Willy to-morrow ; and I thought, papa, you would not mind 
my giving a promise in such a case ; so I said to old Willy, 
who was standing by me, Never mind, Willy ; you shall not be 
tempted to kill yourself over an old log ; and I gave a desperate 
push, and sent the old tree down into the ditch, for, being hol- 
low, it was not so heavy as it looked ; but the poor old fellow 
called out as if it had been his barn of a cottage blown down. 
It was such fun, because I knew how I meant to surprise him ! 
So I said, Don’t break your heart after the old log ; you shall 
see plenty of shining black coal at your stile to-morrow ! I 
thought he would be as pleased as possible at this ; but I sup- 
pose it seemed to him too good to be true, for he only shook 


70 


M NISTERING CHILDREN. 


his head, and said, ‘ I thank you, master, but I fear there ’s no 
good comes of casting away the least of God’s creatures.’ But 
I shall show him what I mean when to-morrow comes. I could 
not have done better ; could I, papa ?” 

“ Indeed, Herbert, I am afraid you will find yourself in a seri- 
ous difficulty ; you seem to have thrown my rule, as to your 
monthly allowance, overboard, with old Willy’s log. It can be 
hardly necessary for me to remind you of what I have repeated 
to you year by year, that I never allow you to anticipate your 
allowance by any debt or promise. I give you what is amply 
sufficient for you, month by month, and while I am spared to 
watch over you, I never will allow you to acquire the habit of 
making the expenditure of the present a debt upon the future.” 

“ But, papa, it was only one week beforehand, and it was for 
charity !” 

“ Whatever the length of time, or whatever the object, your 
father’s rule, my boy, was the same, and you can not break the 
rule without incurring the penalty. Your next month’s allow- 
ance is forfeited, as I always told you it would be if my rule was 
broken by you.” 

“ Bui, papa, I promised !” 

“ You promised what you had no right to engage for, and 
have no power to perform : if you learn by this lesson to avoid 
a too hasty promise through life, it will be well for you ; and 
this was a promise made in direct infringement of my rule, and 
therefore the sorrow of recalling the promise must be vours, 
If you had not wasted your money, you would not have found 
yourself without any, when a real want came before you.” 

“ Then, papa, I must leave old Willy to perish with co'd, and 
the only bit of firewood he has, in the ditch !” 

“ God forbid, Herbert, that you should have a heart, and I a 
son, capable of such an act ! If you can render no aid to the 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


71 


needy without your purse, then you put your money before your 
powers of heart, and mind, and body ; and this is a base substi- 
tution, and proves that, for your own sake, you have need, in- 
deed, to be separated from your purse for a time.” 

Herbert said no more ; he saw his father was resolved, and 
that all appeal was hopeless : he tried to restrain his feelings 
while his father was present, but when Mr. Clifford retired to 
his study after dinner, poor Herbert’s despair broke forth. 

“ Oh, mamma, you will help me, will you not ?” 

“ What can I do for you, Herbert ?” 

“ Will you send as much coal as would last out that old log ?” 

“ No, dear Herbert, I can not do that ; the work is yours, and 
I must not take it out of your hands. Try to look at it calmly, 
it is your first real difficulty in life, and all your future will be 
influenced by it.” 

“ It is not any use to think about it, mamma ; if you will not 
help me, I shall never get out of it. And perhaps old Willy 
will die with the cold, and the whole village will say it was I 
who robbed him of his firewood ; they will think I did it for 
mischief, and never meant to give him any thing better ; and 
then, mamma, I shall hate the place, and never be able to bear 
it !” And Herbert hid his face in his hands in a passion of 
tears. Mrs. Clifford remained silent ; and his sister’s face grew 
pale, but she did not speak. Looking up at last, Herbert said, 
“ Mamma, do you think that if I asked papa, he would let me 
have a man to get the log out of the ditch ? If I could but 
once right old Willy, I would never meddle with charity again !” 

“ You can ask your papa, if you think it likely,” replied Mrs. 
Clifford, sorrowfully, without looking at her son. 

“ But, mamma, if papa does not, what am I to do ? Is it not 
dreadful to be in such a state ? It seems the worst thing in the 
world— to have gone and robbed that poor old fellow of his log 


72 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


and then leave him to perish with cold ; that is what he will 
think, and all the village will think — it drives me wild ! will 70U 
not give me a word of advice, mamma ?” 

“ I will tell you something, dear Herbert, if you will listen 
to me.” 

“ Yes, mamma, I will listen to any thing ; I seem to have no 
thoughts, only one dreadful blank of dead hopeless cold in me.” 
And Herbert came and stood by his mother’s chair, and put his 
arm around her neck ; the storm of his passion had spent itsell' 
but it was with a face expressive of utter hopelessness that he 
stood prepared to listen. 

“ When you were a little child, Herbert, and when you lv ed 
the Bible you so seldom look at now, you were standing one 
day at my knee, having tried long and patiently to learn that 
beautiful verse, 1 Unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given, 
and the government shall be upon His shoulder ; and His name 
shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The 
Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.’ When I had ex- 
plained it a little to you, I said, ‘ Herbert, will you make that 
blessed Saviour, God’s beloved Son, your Counselor ?’ You 
looked very thoughtful, and said, ‘ I don’t know, mamma.’ I 
replied, ‘ He is your papa’s Counselor, Herbert ; your papa 
goes to ask Him in every difficulty, to teach him what to do ; 
and so do I : if you do not, you can uot walk with us in the 
narrow way to heaven — for none can walk in that way without 
His help.’ Then you looked up, and said, ‘ I will, mamma ; 
I will do as you and papa do; and go to heaven with you.’ 
Oh ! Herbert, how earnestly your mother prayed for you, that 
your infant words might not fall to the ground, but might be 
fulfilled from your early years. And now comes the trial, wheth- 
er you will forsake Him whom you chose as the Guide of your 
youth, or whether you will turn to that Heavenly Counselor, 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


73 


and seek for direction in your present trouble where none ever 
sought it aright and in vain.” 

“But, mamma, it is so long since I have really prayed — if I 
ever did.” 

“ Perhaps it is to lead you back to prayer, dear Herbert, that 
you have been suffered to fall into this difficulty.” 

“ But, mamma, what use is it to pray, when, if papa will not 
let me have any money, it is not possible to get out of this 
trouble V 1 

“ Do you think, Herbert, that God who made you, made you 
to be dependent upon money ? or that if you truly turn* to Him, 
acknowledging your fault, and asking His forgiveness and help, 
He could not aid, and would not pity you ?” 

“ Well, mamma, I will try, but indeed it is very hard to look 
out into the dark where I can not see as if any light could 
come.” 

“ Only try, dear Herbert, and it may be your glad surprise 
will prove the first beginning in your heart of a blessed life of 
prayer and praise.” 

“ My head aches, mamma, and I have not begun to prepare 
for my tutor, to-morrow, and he never will hear of an excuse 
unless papa speaks for me, and I am sure papa win not do that 
now ; so I shall not have time to come down again this even- 
ing.” 

Herbert wished his mother good night ; and then weut to 
the sofa where his sister had been silently listening to ali, and 
as he stooped to kiss her, she said, “ Have you never watched 
till you have seen the first bright star shine through the dark 
cloud at night ?” 

“ Yes, I have seen that,” replied Herbert. 

“ There is no darkness upon earth, dear Herbert,” said hia 
sister, “that God can not lighten. Prayer is sure at last to 

4 


74 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


bring a star in the dark cloud, if you do not 'give it up and 
Herbert looked at her sweet smile, and the first ray of peace- 
ful hope seemed to steal into his heart. 

Herbert went round by his father’s study, and on being ad- 
mitted, he went up to his parent and said, “ Will you forgive 
me, papa, for my disobedience ? I am very sorry for it.” 

“ Yes, my dear boy, you have my full forgiveness. I suffer as 
well as you, while I leave you unaided in what looks to you so 
hard a lesson ; and it is a hard one if you try i in any way but 
the right way ; do you know that one right way, Herbert 

“ Yes, papa, I think I do.” 

“ If so, my boy, it may prove the best lesson you have ever 
learned, and sad would be the act that should deprive you of 
the need to acquire a knowledge so blessed !” 

“ But, papa, if I get out of this, I can never try charity again !” 

“I think that depends upon whether you get out of this 
trouble on the right side or the wrong. The after-effect of all 
our troubles depends upon whether we scramble out of them as 
best we can on this world’s side, and by its way ; or whether 
we ask our Saviour to give us His hand in the deep waters, and 
help us out on the side nearest heaven, on which none can get 
out without Him. Suppose I ask you to give me back that many- 
bladed knife I gave you on your last birth-day, because, the first 
time you opened it you cut your fingers with it ? Do you wish 
for that reason to part with it ?” 

“ O no, papa, that was only the first time, and I am sure any 
one might have done the same ! I soon learned to know the 
different springs.” 

“ And even so with blessed charity, my boy — it is a finely- 
tempered instrument, and many there are who wound both 
themselves and others for want of skill in using it. None but 
the God who creates it in man can ever teach us to manage it 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


to 


aright. You have wounded yourself, and risked me injuring 
another, by a mistaken use of it ; but if you once learn how to 
use it, you will be willing to part with your purse, yes, with 
every earthly possession, rather than with it. And now, good 
night, and God bless you, my child, and pour into your heart 
that most excellent gift of charity, the very bond of peace and 
of all virtues, without which, whosoever liveth is counted dead 
before Him^-even true love to God and man.” 

Herbert went slowly and sorrowfully to his room to take his 
mother’s counsel ; the hope that for a moment had soothed him, 
reflected from his sister’s smile and words of assurance, was 
gone again ; his head was heavy and his prayer was heavy, it 
did not seem to rise to heaven or bring him any light. He sat 
down to prepare his lessons ; but all attempts at study were 
vain, his thoughts still wandered to that shivering old man and 
his wasted log in the ditch ; he was learning a deeper lesson, in 
which his books of human learning could not aid him, and his 
mind refused to turn to studies which yielded no sympathy in 
his pressing need. Weary with the vain struggle of feeling, he 
thought he would lie down on his pillow and try to lose him- 
self and his trouble in sleep — but he could only wake to find 
all the same as he had left it. Then his sister’s words came 
back upon his heart — “ Prayer is sure at last to bring a star in 
the dark cloud — if you do not give it up,” so kneeling down 
again he tried to lift the same heavy heart and heavy prayer to 
heaven. He rose and drew back his curtain, and standing 
(within it looked up to the sunless sky; the heavy clouds wore 
'chasing each other across the low horizon, and not a star was 
visible. Yet, thought Herbert, the stars are still the same, and 
perhaps to-morrow night the sky will be cloudless ; but I shall 
have no comfort, for no stars lie for me behind my trouble ! He 
turned back again into his room ; he had placed his /amp m a 


76 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


further corner when he went to the window, and now as he 
looked toward it, its light fell on the crimson cover of his 
Bible, and he remembered his mother’s words, “ that Bible, 
Herbert, you so seldom look at now !” He went and t :>ok it 
sorrowfully and hopelessly down, but still he took it — he took 
the Book whose words are spirit and life — he took the Book 
whose words can wake the dead, can turi darkness into light, 
and warm the heart, and nerve the spirit, with a lj^ing energy 
that death itself has no power to destroy — Herbert took his 
Bible, and sitting down, he opened it at the first chapter of the 
book of James, and there alone beside his lamp, his elbow rest- 
ing on the table, and his heavy head upon his hand, he looked 
upon the sacred page and read till he came to the words — “ If 
any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all 
men liberally, and upbraideth not ; and it shall be given him ; 
but let him ask in faith, nothing wavering.” He read no fur- 
ther ; the sacred word had spoken to him, it knew his need, 
and answered to that need, with a voice that searched far deep- 
er than any other words had done. His mother had told him 
to pray ; but his Bible had told him how, even with “ faith” — 
believing that God .would hear and answer ; his sister had told 
him that whatever our dark trouble might be, prayer could 
bring a bright star shining through it ; but his Bible men- 
tioned the very star he wanted, even “ wisdom” — the light of 
wisdom to show him what to do. And now once more he 
knelt to ask with hope in God, whose word of promise his 
heart had found in his time of need. He asked again that he 
might be able to find some right way out of his trouble. And 
then his thoughts wandered over the village. Always bent on 
his own amusement, he had taken no interest in the wants or 
the comforts of any one there, no eye had looked in grateful 
love upon him, no voice had blessed him. He knew not how 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


77 


to ask the aid of those of whose comfort he had proved him- 
self regardless. Then the rich boy felt his true position, not 
allowed now to fall back on the aid of any in his father’s ser- 
vice, he did not know one to whom he could turn for help in 
his trouble — it was as a lightning-flash that pierced through 
the tinsel of wealth and showed him his personal poverty, in all 
save that which a hasty word had the power to deprive him of. 
But while thinking on all who dwelt around him, among whom 
he could not see one whose love he had won, one on whose 
willing aid he had any right to depend ; suddenly he saw again 
in memory the son of widow Jones, “ honest Jem,” as he had 
seen him in reality a few days before, feeding farmer Smith’s 
sheep, the sheep all gathering round him, eating sometimes 
from the turnips at his feet, and when they failed there, looking 
up to his hand which reached them out a supply, while one 
little weakly lamb, held safe under his arm, nibbled a turnip 
held for it in his left hand. The scene on the snowy field was 
so pretty that old Jenks the coachman had driven slowly by, 
saying to Herbert, who was on the coach-box at his side, “ I 
would trust that lad, if I were in want of a friend, as soon as 
I would any man in the parish !” And the thought came into 
Herbert’s mind, that if Jenks would trust the shepherd-lad to 
be his friend, he might trust him too. The remembrance of 
the young shepherd brought so much relief to Herbert, that he 
gave thanks, and said his evening prayer with a more cheerful 
heart, and then lay down on his pillow and fell asleep. 

His anxious mother came into his room, and thought, as she 
looked at her sleeping child, “Has then sleep such power to 
restore peace to the troubled brow ? how deep the repose of his 
expression now ! Alas, poor boy, will he awake to the same 
distress ? 0 that some light may break upon him, some true 

thought guide him !” While still his mother lingered, Herbert 


78 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


opened his eyes, his mother stooped down to him, and he threw 
his arms round her neck. 

“ 0 ! mamma, you were quite right, quite right ! I thought 
it was all no use, but then that young shepherd of farmer 
Smith’s came into my mind ; you know who I mean, mamma ; 
they call him in the \dllage ‘ honest Jem — he is the only 
person I could ask to do a kindness for me now that I have no 
money to pay them. I think every one else would expect me 
to pay them, but I don’t think that he would, from what Jenks 
said the other day. Do you think that would do, mamma? 
Do you think papa would mind my asking him ?” 

“ No, I think you have fixed upon quite the right person. I 
have heard your sister speak in his praise, and your father only 
feels it right not to furnish you with help from any resources 
of his own ; he wishes you to find a remedy of yourself and 
independent of your home ; that you may both learn and re- 
member the lesson he hopes that this trial may teach you.” 

“ But, then, mamma, I have no doubt he is off by six o’clock to 
the sheep, and he would say he could not give his master’s time 
to me, so I must be up and off by five o’clock, or sooner than that, 
to give time to drag the old log up again. O, I do think I shall 
have it up by to-morrow night, and it makes me so thankful !” 

“ And does nothing else make you thankful, my child ?” 

“ Yes, mamma, because I know where the thought came 
from ! and it was my Bible that first seemed really to comfort 
me, and help me to pray.” 

“ And then, Herbert, when you have taken this first step in the 
narrow way — that way which is only entered by prayer, shall you 
wish to leave it again, and forget all that has helped you now ?” 

“No, I hope I should not wish to leave it, mamma, but 
l don’t know whether I shall be able to walk in it : do you 
think it would all be so hard as this has been ?” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 7S 

% u What was it that made this hard, can you tell me that ?” 

“ WTiy, it was my own fault, mamma, I suppose.” 

“ ^ es, God does not willingly afflict or grieve : His ways are 
pleasantness, and His paths peace.” 

“ But then, mamma, I am always getting into trouble, so that 
I should soon be in another, I am afraid !” 

“ And if you are, dear Herbert, would it be no comfort to 
you to have the same Heavenly Father, who has answered you 
now, to go to as your Guide in every difficulty ? and might you 
not hope to cleanse your way from its present so frequent faults, 
by taking heed thereto according to His Word ?” 

“ Yes, mamma, perhaps I might ; I do hope I shall try, for I 
feel very different to-night to what I did before.” 

And so the mother blessed her child and left him to his rest. 

Left to himself, Herbert’s thoughts turned again to old Willy. 
W r as the old man then shivering in his bed? he had not had 
the little fire of chips he had hoped for, to warm him with, be- 
fore he slept ! Herbert had not remembered this before, and 
saddened again with this fresh recollection he fell asleep ; he 
slept and dreamed. Herbert thought in his dreams, that, un- 
able to rest, he rose from his bed, and went by night to see 
whether old Willy were indeed lying shivering with cold. He 
walked along the well-known road, crossed the little stile into 
old Willy’s garden, and gently opened the cottage-door : all 
was still within the cottage, and there at the further corner of 
the room lay old Willy sleeping in his bed; and, leaning 
where the low bed-post rose — bending over and watching old 
Willy, a radiant angel stood. The old man was asleep ; he 
looked full of peace, and drew his breath as gently as an infant, 
and smiled as if he dreamed of holy things. Herbert thought 
that he did not feel at all afraid of the angel, and the bright angel 
turned his faje of love and looked on Herbert, and said to him, 


80 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


‘ My cliild, what brings you here by night ?” # 

“ I came,” replied Herbert, tt to see whether old Willy slept, oi 
whether he was lying shivering with the cold, as he told me he 
did last night.” 

“ He did shiver long,” said the bright angel, “ before he fell 
asleep, but he has slept some hours now ; I count the moments 
while he sleeps, for when he wakes he must feel the cold of this 
house and shiver again.” 

“ Can not you keep old Willy from feeling the cold when he 
wakes ?” asked Herbert. 

“ No,” replied the angel gravely, “ I can not do that ; that work 
of love is yours. You could not do my work, and I can not do 
yours.” 

“ What is your work ?” asked Herbert. 

“ You could not understand my work if I were to tell you, be- 
cause it is only an angel’s work ; but you can understand your own, 
because your God and our God has taught you in His Word. 

“ I did mean to have made old Willy warm,” said Herbert, 
' 4 but I have no money now.” 

“ Poor child ! can you do nothing without money ?” asked 
the radiant angel. “ Do you wish to help any — pray for them, 
and you will soon find you are taught how to help them. You 
must hearken to the voice of God’s Word — that is how holy 
angels learned their work in Heaven, and that is how you must 
learn yours on earth.” 

Then the bright angel turned and looked again on old Willy, and 
Herbert awoke from his sleep. At first he wondered where he was, 
but he heard the ticking of his watch, and starting up he lit his 
candle and looked at the time ; it was nearly five o’clock ; so 
having dressed, and offered up his morning prayer, he crept softly 
down stairs, let himself out, and went forth into the darkness. 


CHAPTER VII. 


u Pleasant words are as a honey-comb, sweet to the soul, and health to the 
* bones.”— Proverbs xvL 24. 

44 T HAVE no doubt Jem is used to logs, and knows how to 
manage them,” thought Herbert, as he walked along. “ ] 
did not bring a cord with me, but he is sure, I should think, to 
have cords at his cottage ; people who have to do with work 
must always be wanting such things.” The road was longer than 
Herbert had supposed, and though he ran and walked by turns, 
yet the time went on apace, and Jem’s cottage was still distant 
At last he saw the dim beginning of the lane, and a figure come 
up it and turn the corner of another road. “ Hallo- ! stop there !” 
cried Herbert, and running on, he found the figure, now stand- 
ing still, to be none other than Jem himself, with his bill-hook 
hanging from his hand, and his hatch jt over his shoulder. Jem 
knew the young Squire by sight, and exclaimed, “ Why, Mr. 
Clifford, sir ! I hope there ’s nothing happened !” 

“ Nothing, I hope, but what you can set right,” replied Her- 
bert, “ if you will have the kindness to come to my help.” 

“ If you please, sir, I am ready right away,” said Jem, still 
in a maze of astonishment at what could have befallen the 
young Squire at such an hour in the morning. 

“ I ’m afraid it ’s later than I thought, or you are earlier ; 
how are you off for time ?” asked Herbert. 

“ Why, as to that, sir, I am my own master now for a bit, ns 
tLe saying is.” 

i* 


82 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“How is that? I thought you kept the sheep on Farrnei 
Smith’s farm ?” 

“ So I do, sir ; hut just as this year came in, master gave me 
a job of hedging and ditching ; and now he has been so good 
as to let me have another turn of it ; and master has set the 
man Billy Warren for the time to look after my sheep ; so you 
see, sir, the hour is nothing particular, because, as I take it by 
the job, master don’t mind an hour one way or the other — so 
there ’s no need to be looking after that.” 

Herbert felt the light of hope, that had led him to Jem, 
brighten, at the words of the kind-hearted lad, and was about to 
turn round for old Willy’s, when he remembered the cord. 

“ I am afraid we shall want a cord,” said Herbert, “ and I did 
not bring one. I suppose you keep such things always at hand 
in your house ?” 

“ Dear me, no, sir ! it is not much we have to turn to, save a 
pair of hands and feet, thanks be to Heaven for them, and the 
notion how to use them ; but if a cord be the want, I can soon 
fetch one down from master’s at the farm.” 

“ There is nothing can be done in this job without it,” replied 
Herbert, who felt that now he must come to a confession. “ The 
mischief is, that yesterday I found old Willy Green killing him- 
self almost, over an old trunk of a tree, and I hoped to have 
been able to send him in some coals to-day, so I tumbled the old 
log down into his ditch ; but I had forgotten myself when 1 
promised the coal, and now I find 1 can not keep my word, and 
I have been almost distracted about it , and I want to get the 
old log up again, and I did not know who to ask to stand my 
friend and help me, but I thought perhaps you would ; but if 
you take a look at it first, you will better know what we shall 
want to get it up with.” 

“ As you please, sir,” said Jem, and he turned and followed 


MINIS T ERIK (i CHILDREN. 


83 


at Herbert’s side. The two walked in silence on, the print of 
Herbert’s light foot fell side by side in the snow with the 
impress of the heavy tread of Jem’s step of toil and strength. 
Herbert thought to himself, “ Jem does not like the job, I am 
sure, or he would have said something more than, ‘ As you 
please, sir.’ I wish I could find out what he feels abou" help- 
ing me in it ; it is so wretched not to know ! I must make 
him say something.” “ I am afraid, Jem,” said Herbert, “ you 
are thinking you don't like the business ; but if you could 
just help me through with it, I should always feel grateful to 
you !” 

Now, Jem understood that he was expected to speak, and 
when once he understood that, he was always ready, and his 
words were sure, when they did come, to come warm with 
the glow of his kind, true heart : he replied, “ Well, master, 
I was just thinking I ought to have bee#at it alone, instead of 
your being waked up before so much as a mouse has oped 
its eye ; and if I had but known, sure enough I would, and 
I might have known, if I had had half a thought — as the say- 
ing is.” 

“ You could not have known,” replied Herbert ; “ it was only 
yesterday I did it.” 

“ Well, sir, that may be, but I might have known that poor 
old man would come to the want of firewood, such weather as 
this has been ; instead of leaving him, who has no more 
strength than a child, nor yet so much, to be hacking at that 
old stump ; and then it was I set it down so near the ditch, I 
thought to leave it out of the way ; but may be it ’s all for the 
best, as mother is so often saying.” And, with Jem’s last word, 
they stopped at the stile. Herbert sprang over, with a heart 
almost as light as his step, for its heavy weight had melted 
away under the sunshine of Jem’s kind words. Jem followed 


84 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


after him, and they were soon at the edge of the ditch, both 
looking down in the dim gray twilight of morning on the old 
stump below. 

There stood the poor boy, with hatchet over his shoulder, 
and bill-hook in his hand, surveying the log from above — his 
was the strength to aid, his the skill to devise how, his the 
willing mind ; and there stood Herbert by his side in helpless 
dependence, with eyes of hope and fear now fixed on Jem — 
then on the log below. Jem stood in silence a few moments, 
then down he laid his bill-hook, and, springing into the ditch, 
planted his feet upon the log, and, raising his hatchet with 
both hands above his head, fetched a stroke which clave a slit, 
where it entered the wood, about twice the length of the blade 
u That ’s the job, sir,” said Jem, looking up to Herbert from 
below ; “ it ’s not a bit of use for us to be thinking we could 
haul the old log up agBn ; why, a horse could not do it ! But 
a few such strokes as that will bring it up in a right sort of a 
way — all ready for use !” A second time the ponderous hatchet, 
raised by those strong arms and firm and honest hands, fell 
with unerring aim, splitting the wood beside one of the hard 
knots of the old trunk. “ That ’s kind, now,” said Jem, in a 
conciliating tone, to the old log ; “ that ’s just doing as you 
should, and. splitting right away as I meant !” Herbert laughed 
at Jem’s soliloquy to the log ; a happy laugh, for bright 
thoughts were breaking in on his heart — thoughts of raising 
the log all ready for old Willy’s use, and seeing it raised by 
hands that seemed to love the labor — thoughts that broke on 
Herbert’s trouble like the gleams of the sun now shining across 
the darkened sky of night. Strjke followed stroke, without an- 
other pause, till the first log, severed from the parent trunk, 
lay at the feet of honest Jem ; down sprang Herbert into mud 
and mire, seized it in his hands, and, scrambling up again 



p. 84. 


M, C, 














•- 

























\ 































» 








« 



















I 








































































K 







































- • V 





































/ 














































» 
















- • 


§ 

! 












MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


85 


lifted the log above bis bead, and gave a loud w Hurrah ! n 
biever did shout of triumph ring more joyfully after the past 
trial of despair, than this from Herbert’s lips : he shouted it 
with voice as loud and clear as if he thought to reach the ears 
of love within his home, with this his first glad utterance since 
his trouble had begun : but his parents heard it not — for joy, 
in our obstructed atmosphere, heavy with sin and with sorrow, 
sti.l pauses on the wing, and waits a messenger to bear her on 
her way — not so in Heaven, where sin and where sorrow are 
not ! But though the note of triumph reached not the hearts 
that would have echoed back its gladness, it did fall on old 
Willy’s ear, and roused him from his slumber — to him it 
was a signal of surprise and fear. He. opened the little case- 
ment above his bed, and looked in terror from it, expecting to 
see a company of thieves stealing his early vegetables. Her- 
bert heard the little window open, and saw the old man’s 
troubled face — “ It ’s no thief, Willy, we will keep watch !” but 
old Willy still looked out into the dim light, anxious and fear- 
ful. “ Never fear, daddy, it ’s I ! ” said Jem. And Herbert saw 
the change that passed across the face of the old man at that 
true-hearted voice, as he shut his little window to lie down 
again and sleep; while Herbert turned gravely back, log in 
hand, to Jem. “ Old Willy is not your father, is he ?” asked 
Herbert. “ No, sir, I can’t say he is, but I got in the way of 
calling him so when I was a child, and so I keep to it, and 
may be it cheers him now, for he has none belonging to him 
that have a care to see after him ; not but what he is worth a 
dozen and more of them that neglect him ! but, by what I can 
see, it ’s the way of this World — as the saying is — to slight 
them that are old and feeble.” All the time of this reply, Jem 
had been arranging his pi in for a second attack upon the log, 
and now away again went the hatchet, stroke after stroke, but 


86 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


the wood was hard, and Jem began his pacific discourse again. 
“ Well now, you had best give in at once, for I can tell you ’tia 
your master upon you, and there ’s no use in standing out, ’tis 
only wasting your time and mine !” Whether the log took the 
hint, or whether the hatchet took the exact grain of the wood, 
we need not ascertain, but so it was that a capital cleft was the 
result of the next stroke, and Jem pursued his advantage so 
vigorously, that Herbert soon laid a second log by the side of 
the first. 

“ Do you always talk to yourself in that way ?” asked Herbert. 

“ It ’s not so much to myself I talk, sir, as to the thing I am 
after ; it makes it seem mpre company-like, and gets me into a 
better humor with it ; and I am so in the way of it now I don’t 
always know how to get on without it, when may be I ought. 
I took to it young, and that ’s why it hangs to me so, I suppose : 
for you see, sir, my mother was left a widow when I was but a 
few months old, and she has often said how she missed the kind 
word of my poor father more than the money he earned her, 
though she had to labor hard enough ; and then people spoke 
short to her in her trouble ; and took it as a burden ' laid on 
them ; as you know, sir, the widow and the fatherless are al- 
ways taken to be when they come on a parish ; and as long 
back as I can remember, I have seen her fret for a rough word, 
and then I have seen her wholly cheered up by a kind one , so 
it came to me young enough, that good words must be among 
the best of good things, if they do but come from the heart — 
as the saying is, and so I tried at them myself ; and I have 
found, times and often, that a good word will do it when a bad 
one won’t, and by reason of that I have got in the way, and 
now I don’t know as that I could get out of it ; but it ’s not 
words will do all,” added Jem, as he prepared himself for 
a fresh onset upon the log. Stroke after stroke, stroke after 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


87 


stroke, with good words in between, till a third and larger log 
was separated from the trunk. Herbert laid his treasures side 
by side, as he would have laid fox or hare from the hunt a few 
days before. 

“Now, Jem,” said Herbert, “you have given me one of the 
best gifts, I declare, that I ever had in my life, and you must not 
be kept here any longer. If I could but find old Willy’s hatchet, 
I would try at it myself before I go back.” 

“ Well, sir, as for that, my time is my own ; master won’t be 
against an hour or so either way.” 

“ No, Jem, but it ’s the strength it costs you, and you must 
not spend all you have upon me.” 

“ Well, sir, I won’t go against your word, but as for strength, 
I ’m only getting it up by those few strokes ; there ’s no fear of 
being the weaker for a stroke for them that can’t strike for them- 
selves.” Herbert looked inquiringly at Jem, uncertain whether 
he meant him or old Willy by “ them that can ’t strike for them- 
selves but Jem in his honest simplicity understood not the 
awakened start of the young spirit’s independence ; but he did 
understand that he was to retire, when, in a moment more, 
Herbert flung off his coat as Jem had done, laying down his 
hat upon it, and springing on the log, seized Jem’s hatchet, and 
raised it above his head in the act to strike. “ Have a care, sir, 
tor Heaven’s sake, have a care !” cried Jem, entreatingly — as hav- 
ing sprung on the brow of the ditch he looked down on Herbert, 
‘That old hatchet is as sharp as any thing, and if it slips the 
wood, it may take your feet as like as not.” Herbert paused a 
minute while Jem gave full instructions how to place his feet, 
now to avoid the knots of the old trunk, and to take it in the 
grain of the wood. At last the stroke was given, a little way 
— some poor half-inch the hatchet condescended to enter — and 
no more. “ That could not have been done better for the first 1” 


88 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


said Jem ; “ but I am thinking, sir, there are as many logs as 
old Willy will burn in a day : but if you have a mind to work 
in right earnest, why he will be in want of a few chips to help 
make the old logs burn, and it will be best to begin with them, 
till the strength gets up a bit, and the knack of the other gets 
known ; it ’s not learned in an hour to cut up an old log, and you 
were not born to it, you see, sir ; so it don’t come natural.” 

“ I suppose I was born to help the poor !” said Herbert, look- 
ing up gravely into Jem’s pleading face above him — his own 
glowing with the effort of the recent stroke, and the rays of the 
morning sun falling like Heaven’s blessing on his young un- 
covered head. “ I was born, I suppose, to help the poor !” again 
repeated Herbert, looking thoughtfully down on the old log at 
his feet ; “ but if you think old Willy will want chips, I will 
not be against trying at them first.” 

“That he will, sir, and daddy’s bill-hook is, not so heavy as 
mine by half ; I can find it up in his old log-house.” The bill- 
hook was found, and springing down on the log, Jem gave Her- 
bert a lesson in cutting chips ; and then away went honest Jem 
to his work for the day, the risen sun gilding the sky. 

Herbert toiled away at the log to his great satisfaction, till he 
suddenly remembered the time ; then, without further delay, he 
carried the chips that lay scattered around him, and piled them 
up by the precious logs at old Willy’s door, when suddenly the 
door opened, and the old man looked out. 

“Bless you, master, what are you after now ?” said old Willy, 
in a wonderment at sight of the young Squire, soiled, and laden 
with chips. Herbert looked up, his healthful effort shedding 
as bright a crimson on his cheeks as the risen sun had but now 
shed upon the morning sky, and laying down his burden close 
beside the door- he replied, “ Why, Willy, I am very sorry, but 
I promised what I could not perform. I am very sorry, Wi’lj^ 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


80 


but I can not buy so much as a shovel-full of coals. I don’t 
mind telling you, Willy, but I have forfeited my money that I 
have to spend for my own, and so I got Jem to help me get up 
your log again, but it was too heavy, and so he cut those logs 
off, and I cut the chips ! Won’t you be warm now, Willy 1” 

“ Yes, bless you !” said the old man, and his voice trembled 
with feeling ; “ warm outside and in too ! Aud it ’s a deal bet- 
ter than casting away one of God’s good creatures, to make 
room for another. I had wholly a dread to see the coals come 
in, and my old log left at the bottom of the ditch. And then, 
master, it was the hand of kindness that gave it me, and I 
thought it seemed hard to cast it away like that.” 

“ Who gave it you ?” asked Herbert, with a quick idea that 
it perhaps had been Jem himself. 

“ Why, you see, sir, Farmer Smith has set Jem — my Jem, as 
I call him — to a job of hedging and ditching, and so one day 
he came here with his barrow and that old lo£ in it, and he 
said, ‘ Here, daddy, I have made mother a fire for many a day 
.o come, and this old log is for you ; now, don’t you be after 
hacking on it ; I ’ll set it right away against the ditch here, and 
then, when I get a little further on in my job, I ’ll take an hour 
at it as I can, and soon have it in pieces for you.’ And so it 
just eases me that it ’s not all gone for nothing, after his taking 
that care after me. But you will catch cold, master, out in this 
freezing air.” 

“ O no, Willy, I am not afraid of that,” replied Herbert, who 
had been listening with anxious attention to the discovery that 
the log had been Jem’s gift at the beginning ; “ but,” added he, 
“ I am off to breakfast now ; and be sure you get up a blaze 
with those chips ; I shall come to look after it, so be sure you 
do !” And Herbert was off, while the old man, leaning on his 
stick with one hand, and shading his eyes with the other from 


90 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

the radiance of the eastern sky, watched him out of sight ; then 
turning back into his cottage, began to light up his fire and pre- 
pare his frugal meal. 

“ Well, Herbert, my boy, is all right ?” said his father, as he 
gave him his morning embrace. 

“ Yes, papa, getting right, I hope. I am sure, mamma, that 
thought of Jem was right enough, for he is the best fellow I 
ever saw ; he was just all that I wanted ! And we are not 
going to drag up the old log, but cut it all to pieces down 
there in the ditch, and get it up ready for use — is not that capi- 
tal, papa ? And I cut the chips, and I am to cut some logs an- 
other time ; and I made up such a pile at old Willy’s door ! I 
mean to go down after my lessons, and see what sort of a fire 
he has. And only think, mamma ! it was Jem himself who had 
carried the log for old Willy’s fire, and meant to cut it up for 
him ; old Willy told me so. But, O if you had seen old Willy, 
papa, when he opened his bit of a window at the end of his cot- 
tage, and took us for thieves ! He did not look the least more 
satisfied when he found it was me, than if I had been a down- 
right thief ; but the moment Jem spoke, he looked as if he 
thought no harm could come to him. I wonder what all the 
village think of me ?” 

“ It is not what people think of us, my boy, but what we 
really are, that we have need to inquire. Suppose you take that 
question as an exercise for your own heart to-day, What am I ? 
Answer it faithfully in writing, and put the date of the month 
and year to it, and let me have it with a seal on, to lock up for 
you in my private desk till a year has passed away, if you should 
live to see it.” 

“ I will, papa, if you wish me ; but I am afraid it will be a 
poor account.” 

w Better to face the truth at once ; then we may hope to bo- 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


91 


gin to reflect its likeness,” replied Mr. Clifford. Then, with a 
smile of assurance, Herbert whispered to his sister, “ The star 
did come in a cloud, and the cloud is gone - now !” and hastened 
off to prepare for encountering his tutor. 

“ I am very sorry, Mr. Merton, that I am not ready with mj 
lessons,” said Herbert. “ I got into trouble, and it ’s taken more 
than my best thoughts to find a way out of it.” Herbert’s tutor 
saw at once that it was no excuse of idleness ; and placing con- 
fidence in his young pupil, such confidence as, if oftener used, 
might yield its pleasant fruit, he replied, “ Perhaps you have 
been learning a better lesson than any I set you. Shall we sit 
down to your books now, and see what we can do together ?” 
The look of surprise, gratitude, and pleasure that instantly light- 
ed up Herbert’s face was assurance enough to his tutor that he 
had not erred in his confidence ; and that morning’s study was 
equally pleasant to teacher and pupil. 

At last Herbert was free to set off once more to the aged 
Willy’s broken-down cottage ; a wreath of smoke was curling 
up from it to heaven — the happy witness of his morning’s effort ; 
he knocked with his stick upon the door ; then, opening it, peep- 
ed in. There sat old Willy, while, in the open fireplace beside 
him, burned red and hot the logs that morning saw prepared for 
use ; behind him a thick crimson curtain shut out the draught, 
and shut in the warmth of the fire ; a table was drawn close to 
him, and on it lay his open Bible. 

« Well, Willy,” said Herbert, “ here I am, come to see how 
the old logs burn ! What a capital fire they have made ! T)id 
you use my chips ?” 

“ Yes, master, and they were greatly needed to get a heat up 
under the logs ; but I found a sprinkling of coals, and after a 
time I got up such a fire as I have not had foi long, and the 
other big log is drying at the back.” 


92 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Herbert drew out a little stool from the open chimney, and 
sat down close by the fire, in front of old Willy. Now Herbert 
had by no means forgotten his dream, and he looked round old 
Willy’s room with a feeling of awe. On the further side of the 
room he saw a low bedstead, not unlike the one he had seen in 
his dream : he wondered whether old Willy knew any thing 
about the angels ; he thought the best way would be to talk to 
him a little on that subject, but he hardly knew how to begin, 
till, remembering the open Bible which lay on the table, he 
said — 

“ If you read the Bible, Willy, I suppose you know about the 
angels ?” 

“ Yes, master, I read about them there, and what they do for 
the like of me.” 

“ Do you think that they really watch over you, Willy ?” 

“ Don’t I know it, master ! for does it not say the very same 
in my Book? And is it not the like thoughts to that, that keep 
me happy and praising God at night times, when the wind 
blows my old place about as if it were ready to come down -and 
bury me !” 

“ Do you think the angels will keep it from falling, Willy ?” 

“No, I never read the like of that ; but I know they are 
watching over me ; and I think that, if it fell, they would carry 
me, as they did that poor beggar that I read of, straight up to 
the blessed heaven above.” 

“ But are you not afraid to sleep in this old house for fear it 
should fall.” 

“ No, master ; why should I be afraid ? It ’s not death I am 
afraid of ! I say, why should I be afraid ? It would only be a 
going home ; and, somehow, I think about the bright side ; and 
for the dark side, why should not I be leaving that all behind — 
for why then should I think about it? And don’t I know 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


93 


He that keeps me together soul and body can keep the place 
that ’s over my head till He takes me up to a better ? Is not 
that just what he spoke to poor men that looked to him for 
comfort as I do ? ‘ Let not your heart be troubled : ye believe 

in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many 
mansions : if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to 
prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for 
you, I will come again and receive you unto myself ; that where 
i am, there ye may be also.’ My blessed angel taught me those 
words, before ever I could read them in my book !” 

“ Did the angels teach you that ?” asked Herbert, leaning for 
ward. 

“ Not them that live up above, master, but that one that ’s a 
sister of yours. I always caM her so, because, to my thinking, 
she seemed sent right away from the holy Heaven to teach me, 
a poor old dark sinner as I was.” 

“ Do you know my sister ?” asked Herbert. 

“ Why, I knew her before I knew myself,” replied old Willy, 
with a smile. 

“ Now, Willy; I know you are joking, my sister is not half so 
old as you.” 

“ No, bless her !” said old Willy, “ she is but an infant of days 
by the side of an old sinner like me. But I mean, that I never 
knew myself, till she taught me what I was.” 

“ How do you mean that she taught you, Willy ?” 

“ Why, you see, sir, I was a poor old ignorant sinner, that 
had lived all my days only for this world. Well, I used to sit 
on that settle by my door for hours in the summer-time, when 
I had nothing to be after, and she saw me many a time as she 
went riding by on her white pony. Well, one day she stopped 
and I saw her come stepping over the stile, so I rose up and 
made my obedience to her, and she said, 4 Sit down again, I am 


94 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


come to sit a little while with you on this pleasant seat.’ Well, 
she talked to me ; and asked me if I thought about tleaven all 
the long hours I sat by myself on that seat at my door ; and I 
told her I could not say that I had much understanding about 
that. Then she asked me if I did not think about God’s blessed 
Word, that showed us the way to Heaven ; and I told her I 
could not say that I ever had any knowledge of that. Then 
she said, would I like to have her read to me out of her Book, 
that I might get a knowledge and understanding of those 
things ; so I said, if she pleased, I should take it a great favor. 
Then she took a little book from her bag that hung on her arm, 
and she said, 1 This is the Bible, God has given it to us to show 
us the way to Heaven.’ So I bended my attention to listen ; 
and she read me about the beggar Lazarus, and the angels that 
bore him to Heaven. I thought that was not like the ways of 
this world, but I did not say a word ; so when she had done, 
she asked me whether I could tell her why it was that the 
angels above came down to cany up that poor beggar, that had 
not so much as a bed to die in, to Heaven ? So I said, I had 
no understanding in such things ; then she said, that the beg- 
gar loved the good God who made Heaven and earth, and the 
good God loved that poor beggar, and so He sent His angels 
for him to take him to be with Him in Heaven. Well, I thought 
it was wonderful, and not much like to the ways of men, but 
I did not say a word. Then she asked me if I loved the good 
Lord as that poor beggar did ? So I said, I did not seem to 
know ; then she said, if I did not know, that showed I did not 
love Him, for if I loved Him, I must have a knowledge that I 
did : and she asked me if I should like to know and love the 
good Lord who sent His angels for the poor beggar ? And I 
said, Yes, for certain I should if I could come at it ; and she 
said, the poor beggar came at that knowledge, and therefore I 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


95 


might if I tried to gain it ; and she said she would come and 
read to me about it from her Book. Well, I sat and thought 
on that poor beggar — carried right away up to Heaven by the 
angels as soon as the breath was out of his poor body. I 
thought, if I could be done for as he was, that would seem 
wonderful comfort to think upon. And I sat and watched for 
her to come again, for I saw she had got it all, and I seemed to 
think she would bring it to me, though I could not tell how. 
Well, she came again, just as she did before, many times ; I 
can’t mind the words she read to me now, only those first, but 
somehow it all seemed as if it came to me.” 

“ What came to you ?” asked Herbert. 

“ Why, the understanding to know it all ! I seemed to get 
light in me to see it — I got a sight of what a dark, bad life I 
had led, without a bit of love in my evil heart for the good 
Lord, who died for me : and then I saw Him still waiting for 
me^still calling to me, a poor lost sinner, to come to Him : it 
broke my old heart quite up, but then I got comfort — looking 
up to Him. Well, then, she said to me, 1 Willy, God gave i 
the Bible for you to look into as well as for me ; would you not 
like to have one, and try to read it V I have clean lost all my 
learning, said I. ‘ But, Willy,’ said she, ‘ I think it would 
come back again ; suppose we try V So the very next time 
she came carrying this blessed Book in her own hands ; and 
the first word she made me read was our Saviour’s name, 
Jesus. ‘ There, Willy,’ said she, ‘ now you can read the 
name of your Saviour — who loved you, and died for you, and 
sent me to teach you ! Now see how many places in the New 
Testament you can find that name in, against I come again.’ 
How I did study, to be sure, and without a bit of spectacles, 
for my eyes are wonderful ! She left me many bits of marks, 
and I tucked them in where I found that name ; and X looked. 


96 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


till to be sure I seemed to have nothing day or night in my 
mind but that name Jesus ! And when she came again, how 
pleased she was to be sure ! Then she said, ‘ Now, Willy, you 
have learned your Saviour’s blessed name, now you shall look 
after the Holy name of God, that is a terrible name, Willy, 
for those who do not love the name of Jesus, but I hope you 
do, so you don’t need to be afraid to look upon the Holy name 
of God ?’ Well, I thought it seemed a serious thing as she 
spoke it, but I kept hold of that first name Jesus in my mind, 
when I looked after the other, and to be sure I seemed to find 
God every where ! And so I always kept those two together, 
and so I do now, for when I get upon that great name of God, 
then I think of Jesus, and it lifts me on. And, after a time, 
my learning did seem to come to me again, and now there is 
scarce a part of the Book but what I can get comfort out of— 
thanks be to God that sent her to teach me to know Him tha< 
loved me, and gave* Himself for me !” 

Herbert had listened with breathless attention, for he loved 
his sister with all the affection of his heart, and now he replied, 
“ You have not seen my sister, Willy, for some weeks now ; she 
has been ill.” 

“ No, master, not since the beginning of January ; she came 
here then, and the groom carried a big bundle, and if it was 
not all for me ! just this fine curtain as you see it hung across 
here ; and there was that little curtain for the window, instead 
of the old thing that was rotted to pieces there before ; and 
that one she brought — it is wonderful the wind and rain it 
keeps out, from the thickness of it ! that was the last time I saw 
her come in : but, to my thinking, she is never out of my sight, 
for I seem to see her in that light that shows me my Saviour — 
for she don’t seem of this world, to my thinking.” 

“ Well, good-by, Willy,” said Herbert, gravely, “ it won’t be 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


97 


long before I am near you again !” and be shook hands with 
the old man, and hastened home. He was soon in his sister’s 
boudoir ; she was lying on her sofa, and Herbert laid his head 
upon her shoulder, and the pent-up feelings of his heart broke 
forth in tears. 

“ What is the matter, my darling Herbert ? what has hap- 
pened ? where have you been ? You must not cry so — tell me 
fil about it.” 

“ 0, Mary, why are you so long ill ? When will you be 
well again ?” 

“ When the spring-time comes, then I shall be well again, 
and we will walk and ride again together as we used to do.” 

“ Are you sure you will be quite well then ?” asked Herbert. 

“We can never be quite sure about any thing upon earth ; 
but I do not feel any doubt about it, and the doctor thinks so, 
too.” 

“ O ! then I shall be happy again !” said Herbert ; “ and shall 
we go and see old Willy together ?” 

“ Yes, dear, we will do any thing you like. Should you like 
to go and see him with me 1” 

“ Yes, I should like it very much. I am just come away 
from him.” 

“ And had he a warm fire with the logs which you and Jem 
prepared ?” asked his sister. 

“ Yes, that he had ; and he looked so comfortable ! Not 
the least cold, and he said my chips were the greatest use in 
making the old logs burn ; and to-morrow morning I mean 
to go all alone ; I know, if I try, I can do it with old Willy’s 
hatchet ; and then I shall feel of some use in the world. Only 
think, if I could make old Willy’s fire with logs I had chopped 
for it !” 

“ Yes, it would be very pleasant to make his fire ; but I 
5 


08 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


hope there will soon he other ways to do that without your 
chopping wood, because I don’t think you are strong enough 
for that, and I don’t think papa thought of your doing that.” 

“ 0, Mary, y ou don’t know what nice work it is ! If you could 
but have seen how many chips I got off the side of that old 
tree, where Jem had chopped the logs, you would have known 
I could do it.! I will not hurt myself, indeed ; it does every bit 
as well as skating, and then it makes old Willy’s fire !” 

“ Yes, but if you hurt yourself, I am afraid it would make 
me ill.” 

“ You need not be afraid, indeed, Mary. I will think of you 
— and then I am sure to take care. You see Jem taught me 
just how to do it, and old Willy’s hatchet is very light.” 

That evening, when Herbert had prepared his lessons for his 
tutor, he remembered the question his father had given him to 
answer, and, sitting down again to his desk, he took a sheet 
of paper and wrote at the top — 

“ Question. What am I ? 

“ Answer. An Englishman — a gentleman.” 

But then Herbert paused, and thought to himself, “ That will 
do so far, but what next 1 Why, I may as well say I have two 
ponies and a groom : no, that will not do, the question is not 
what I have, but what I am. Well, then, let me see, what else 
am I ? I am sure I don’t know. I could say I am a huntsman, 
but that would not look well alone. I can not say I am any 
thing in the way of study ; nor yet in the way of nature — for 
I am not a naturalist, nor a botanist, nor a gardener. Let 
me see — what should a gentleman be 1 Why, he should be 
polite, but papa says I am too forgetful of . other people’s com- 
fort to be polite, though I try at it sometimes. Am I generous 1 
I am afraid not ; because my the ughts, and my time, and money, 
have all been spent on myself. O dear, what am I ? If I am 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 9£ 

Dot polite, and not generous, perhaps I am not a gentleman yet, 
but only a boy ? I will write that : but then, what am I besides ! 
I am sure I don’t know ; I am just nothing — I have been no use 
to any one, and no comfort to any body ! I will write that 
down ; but no, that is only what I am not ; and papa said I 
was to write what I am. Well, then, I see it is no use looking 
on the bright side, I can not find myself there, so I may as well 
come to the dark side at once, I shall have no difficulty then !” 
So Herbert took a fresh sheet. 

“ Question. What am I ? 

“ Answer. An English boy. 

“ Passionate, selfish, sinful. 

“ I have forsaken the Guide of my youth, and forgotten the 
Word of God : but I hope I have found the Heavenly Counsel- 
or — and that he will lead me in a better way. 

“ Herbert Clifford.” 

Herbert folded it up, and took it to his father’s study ; he 
found his father there, and said, “ I don’t want to disturb you, 
papa, I have only brought you what you wished — it’s dreadful, 
but it’s true ! You can read it, papa, for you know it all.” His 
father took the paper, and looked upon it ; then, taking the con- 
science-stricken child to his embrace, said, “ My precious boy ! 
you have found the Truth — or, rather, the Truth has found you ; 
4 take fast hold of her, let her not go, keep her, for she is thy life* 
— then shall your path be ‘ as the shining light, that shineth 
more and more unto the perfect day !’ ” 

Again that night Herbert turned to the Book that his heart, 
and not his head alone, remembered now : and from the 
second chapter of St. James, he read, “ Hearken, my beloved 
brethren, hath not God chosen the poor of this world, rich in 
faith, and heirs of the kingdom which He hath promised to 


100 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


them + hat love Him ?” Could he help thinking of old Willy ? 
— not now as a poor helpless old man, shivering with cold, but 
as rich in faith — had not Herbert found him to be so ? and an 
heir to a kingdom — eternal in the heavens — and, thinking on 
these things, Herbert fell asleep on his pillow, while a radiant 
angel, like the one which watched over old Willy, kept guard 
through the night over the sleeping boy ; and bright dreams of 
warm hearths, and glad faces, and open Bibles, and love around 
him every where, made sweet the slumbers of the happy child. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


“ The rich and poor meet together : the Lord is the Maker of them aIL n — Fnov- 
EKBS xxii. 2. 

TJERBERT woke ; he looked at his watch — it was half-past 
five o’clock ; so, rising with the vigor of a resolved will, 
he set forth again in the darkness, his thoughts busy with his 
work, and how he should manage it all without Jem ; till, silent 
and dim in the distance, he saw the cottage where old Willy 
dwelt. He quickened his steps, and, as he drew near, he heard 
the sound of a heavy stroke ; he listened, and heard it again, 
and then an encouraging voice saying, “ Well, there, to be sure, 
’tis as well to give in, when it must come to that in the end !” 
and the sound of a log falling, as if thrown up, fell on Herbert’s 
ear. There was no mistaking the tone or words of the speaker. 
“ It is Jem, I declare !” said Herbert to himself, as, without wait- 
ing to reach the stile, he scrambled over the hedge. 

“ Why, Jem ! I meant to have cut you out this morning, and 
shown what I could make of the old log by myself.” 

“ Well, sir, I thought as much ; but there ’s none the worse 
for it as it is, and may be there V some will be the better ; for 
’tis as knotted an old tree as ever was, and stands out against a 
stroke wonderful !” 

“ Why, you have not cut away these three logs this morning, 
Jem, have you ?” • 

“No, sir ; I got a stroke or two last evening in my way home 


102 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


for this time of the year the sun lingers a-bed till I often wish he 
was up a bit earlier ; but I suppose he comes right to his time, 
for all that — for our Mercy is often singing before ’tis light — 

“ ‘ My G-od, who makes the sun to know 
His proper hour to rise.’ ” 

“Yes,” replied Herbert ; and he tried to remember a little as- 
tronomy, to establish himself in Jem’s simple belief of the sun 
commg right to its time ; but it would not just then occur to 
his mind, so he gave all his thoughts to the log. 

“Why, Jem, I declare you have split the tree half its length !* 

“ Yes, sir, that ’s what I had in my mind — to split it if 1 
could, and then we might hoist it up, for it gets the mastery 
down here in the mud, by being a bit unsteady ; but I found I 
could not get it to halve as it was, so I am set to work again 
till it thinks better of it.” 

When three more logs were off the split was effected, a large- 
sized piece was separated, which Jem raised up to Herbert from 
below, and then fastened two cords he had brought from the 
farm, one at each end of the log, and by dint of pulling, and groan- 
ing, and pleasant speaking, the remainder was drawn up sideways 
and lodged on the solid ground. Herbert sprang uprn the con- 
quered tree, and, with hat in hand, was again preparing for a 
loud “ Hurra !” when lie suddenly remembered old Willy fast 
asleep, and, springing down, seized up Jem’s hatchet, to carry on 
a practical warn re, instead of his suspended note of triumph. 
Herbert could now plant his foot firmly on the tree ; the sun hav- 
ing risen, its light fell full upon his work, unshaded by tne sides 
of the dark ditcl , and with old Willy’s light hatchet, and Jem 
directing, cautioning, encouraging, and praising him by turns, he 
succeeded at last, and severed a considerable log from the old 
stem. His triumph and independence were now at the hight 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


103 


and Jem was dispatched to his work with a warm shake of his 
rough honest hand, for the help he had given him. 

“ Well, sir,” said Jem, “ the pleasure is none the less to give 
than to receive, as the sayiug is and then he packed himself 
up with hatchet and bill-hook, and, with his bow of respectful 
reverence to the young Squire — not less esteemed by honest Jem 
because he had turned in confidence to ask his aid — he again 
departed to his day’s work. Another log was separated, and 
Herbert pulled out his watch, to see if he might venture on a 
third, when he suddenly remembered the useful chips ; so, ex- 
changing the hatchet for the bill -hook, he set to work in a dif- 
ferent fashion, till a supply of chips lay scattered around him. 
Never did woodman with more thankful heart survey his work 
than the youthful Herbert, that cold winter morning ; and who 
shall tell the heartfelt satisfaction with which he piled up logs 
and chips at old Willy’s still closed door — while mingling thoughts 
of the poor old man, so rich in faith, an heir of the kingdom of 
heaven, watched over by angels, taught by his sister, and now 
warmed by his hand, glowed in Herbert’s young heart and 
beamed in his eye ! With what care did he arrange and re-ar- 
range the pile, that it might look to the best effect when old 
Willy opened his door. And then, putting hatchet and bill 
hook safely away in the shed, he made haste to leave old Willy 
alone to his surprise ; and, turning round to take one more look, 
he got over the stile to set forth on his way home. 

“ 0, papa, I really feel a man at last ! Only think ! I have 
chopped off two logs, and one alone by myself, and now I quite 
understand it ; I know how it can be done, and how it can not. 
I wonder whether you know all about the grain of the wood, 
papa, and getting the hatchet right for a split, and keeping clear 
of the terrible old knots !” 

u I know a little about it ir theorv, my boy, but not, like you, 


104 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


in practice. But I begin to feel a rich man, seeing I have a sol 
who can do one useful thing without his purse ! And now, if 
we should have to go to the backwoods of America, you can 
build us all a log-house.” 

“ I do believe I could, with Jem to help ; he is such a capital 
fellow ! I wish he worked for you, papa.” 

“ We must not covet our neighbor’s servant ; and you see Jem 
can be of no great use to us without being in our employ : if he 
had been my man he would not have been your helper in this 
difficulty. I only think it is a pity that Jem can not come and 
teach you Latin and Greek ; then you might yet hope to take a 
good degree at college, which I am afraid Mr. Merton does not 
consider there is likely to be much hope of at present.” 

“ 0, papa, Jem would be a great deal worse at Latin and 
Greek than I am ! and then, you see, papa, I can not get the 
same spirit into my lessons, because I can not see why we 
should learn things that we don’t the least care about, and that 
are of no use to any one, and that only to take up a great deal 
of pleasant time !” 

“ And suppose the young tree was to say that it could not 
see the use of the wind that blew it from side to side, fatiguing 
it every rough day ; nor of the rain that drenched its leaves, 
and yet still battered down ; nor of the sun that chose out the 
hottest time to come scorching upon it. — I suppose you couh 
set the young tree right on that subject and could assure it that 
though it might find the boisterous wind, and the battering 
rain, and the scorching sun, all a little inconvenient at times, 
yet that it would prove very unfit for its place in the forest o 
the grove if it got rid of those troublesome influences — what d.s 
you say to that ?” 

“ Yes, papa, of course every one knows what a tree wants.” 

u And so, my boy, every one who watches over you may 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


106 


know what you want, and yet you may be at present unable to 
judge. You must take it on trust a little while ; and rest as- 
sured that if your powers of mind are unexercised, and your 
thoughts uncultivated by the study of the lives and writings of 
other men, you would never be fitted to fill your Heaven-ap- 
pointed position in life. You see the use now of making a fire 
fcr old Willy ; but by and by you will, I trust, see still greater 
use in being able to acquire an influence over the minds of those 
who will meet you in your own station in life, and by this means 
you may, through your influence over the men of your own 
rank, make many an old Willy warm and prosperous, who 
might otherwise have been suffering from neglect and indiffer- 
ence : but this you can never hope to do if you fail to culti- 
vate those powers of your heart, or mind, or head, which God 
has bestowed on you, as needful to the right fulfilment of the 
duties of the station in which He has placed you.” 

“ Well, papa, I don’t think that I shall do worse at my lessons 
for making up old Willy’s fire ; I am sure I did better yesterday.” 

“ No, my boy, the poor man’s blessing is a drop of Heavenly 
dew descending to invigorate the heart, and mind, and head, of 
him on whom it falls. I have not the least expectation of hear- 
ing that old Willy’s bright fire leaves your understanding burning 
dimmer than before. So long as you observe your tutor’s rules 
and requirements, you may find as much pleasure as you can in 
ministering to the old man’s comfort ; and may the poor man’s 
God make your work and service of love acceptable to himself.” 

This conversation passed during the cheerful morning meal ; 
and after breakfast Herbert lingered with his sister as he often 
did a little while, and she said, “ Is this useful woodcutting for 
old Willy the only thing you have learned in these last few 
days to value the knowledge of?” 

“ No, Mary, not the only thing. T know what you mean, and 


106 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


it is a better knowledge than wood-cutting — you mean that I have 
learnt that God hears and answers prayer ?” 

“ Yes, dear Herbert, and you have learned it not in word only, 
but in deed and in truth ; as only those can learn it who make 
trial of it, as you have done, in the way the Bible teaches.” 

“ I hope, Mary, whatever I forget, I may remember that 
knowledge, for it is wonderful to think of the comfort that has 
come out of my trouble ! and I feel now as if I knew to whom 
to go whatever difficulty I might be in.” 

“ That blessed confidence, dear Herbert, nothing but our own 
experience can teach us ; how happy for you to have learned it 
so early !” 

After that day’s lessons, Herbert rode with his father ; they 
talked of pleasant things, and Herbert felt as if he had been 
more of a companion to his father in his ride than he had ever 
been before. The evening was given to preparation for hi? tu- 
tor, and the next morning he was off again between six and 
seven for old Willy’s. “ I should not wonder if I were to find 
Jem there again !” thought Herbert, as he pursued his way — 
and truly enough there stood the faithful Jem, hewing and 
hacking the remnant of the old tree ; while several logs lay 
round it, the fruit of the past evening’s labor — Jem seeming to 
consider that Herbert had the exclusive right to bear off in per- 
son to the cottage every portion of the log that had become so 
great an object of interest to him. Herbert insisted on his own 
acquired capabilities, and Jem was sent off to his hedging and 
ditching. Meanwhile, as soon as daylight dawned, old Willy 
rose, determined not to let the young Squire be off again with- 
out an old man’s thanks : and he stood by, beneath the risen 
sun, when Herbert clave in twain the last fragment of the hard 
old tree ; and now Herbert might safely shout, so standing with 
one foot on each of the last severed logs, he gave three loud 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 10^ 

“ hurrahs !” and then, with old Willy’s smiling help, piled up 
the precious store of wood within the little shed, and so pursued 
his homeward way beneath the old man’s blessing. 

As Herbert walked home, he felt that great things had been 
done — the logs all prepared for use, and yet old Willy had not 
struck another stroke, nor lost another breath upon them. Jem 
had become his friend ; and that because he had asked and re- 
ceived the kindness of the shepherd-lad ; for so it was, the way 
in which Herbert had turned to Jem had won the heart of the 
widow’s son, and he had said in his cottage-home, “ There is not 
a thing I would not be after doing for my young master at the 
Hall there, if I knew that he wanted it.” Jem then had become 
his friend ; and who that knows the value of the poor man’s 
love, but would have rejoiced in this ! Then also Herbert felt 
as if his parents had never seemed so well pleased with him ; 
his sister so happy, or his tutor so kind. Well might his step 
be swift, and his heart light. How many stars might he count 
now, where all was once so dark before him ! 

That morning, as he lingered again with his sister, he said, “I 
have such a capital plan in my head ! Do you not know how 
often papa has wished I could be down stairs of an evening ? 
Well, now I have no more wood-chopping to do before break- 
fast, I don’t mean to give up getting up early ; I mean still to 
get up, and do my lessons before breakfast-time, and then I can 
be down a great part of the evening. Is not that a capital 
plan r 

“ Yes, indeed it is ; only you won’t let this early study rob 
vo 1 ; of the time you want to seek a Heavenly blessing ?” 

“ No, I think I should be afraid nothing would go right, if I 
could neglect that. I will tell you what I mean to do, Mary 
I mean to learn the Epistle of St. James all through; three 
verses everj morning ; it will be the only lesson I shall not have 


108 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


to give an account of to any one ; I shall learn it alone with 
God and myself !” 

Herbert kept his resolution ; he was up morning by morn- 
ing to his lessons, and by this means secured the happy even- 
ings with his parents and his sister. He kept watch over old 
Willy, and, as the days went on, he began to think what next 
must be done to keep up the fire on old Willy’s hearth ? One 
thing alone was certain, and that was, that he could not let 
old Willy be cold, though no log now lay in the ditch. Al 1 
his thoughts were unsuccessful ; he could devise no plan. But 
those who, like Herbert, think upon the wants of others and 
pray for their relief, are sure to find there is a Hand unseen 
working for those on whom they think and for whom they pray. 
Herbert seemed to himself to get no nearer to any further aid 
for old Willy : but sometimes that which we think far oft* is 
close before us ; and our next step shows it plain. Old Willy’s 
fire-wood was getting low, and Herbert knew not what to do : 
sometimes he thought that his mother or bis sister, who knew 
he had no money, might some day surprise him by supplying 
old Willy’s want ; but Herbert’s father had secretly requested 
that they would not do so ; he wished to see Herbert make his 
own way alone — and though he was quite ready now to aid 
him, if really necessary — he did not wish to do so until he found 
that it was necessary. Herbert said nothing, but he became 
more silent and thoughtful : care for the poor and needv was 
pressing on his heart. O happy they who bear the burden of 
the wants of others, before they know the weight of personal 
calamity themselves ! Jem was keeping his sheep again ; it 
was not to Jem that Herbert must now look : and once more 
things began to seem dark, and Herbert felt bis own comfort 
was l ound up with the comfort of tha + fieble old man, who hud 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


109 


already been warmed by tbe labor of bis bands ; yet still be 
knew not wbat to do. 

While in this difficulty, as Herbert was coming from tbe 
stables one morning, be was met by tbe gamekeeper’s eldest 
boy — a child about bis own age — who, coming up to him, said, 
“ If you please, Mr. Herbert, we have gathered a heap of sticks 
out of tbe park ; father said be thought you might be wishing 
for dry wood, and that he might as well have it ready as not.” 

“ What a capital thought !” exclaimed Herbert, “ it ’s the very 
thing ! but how came you to know I wanted wood ?” 

“ Well, sir, father saw you riving up old Willy Green’s log 
before it was light, and he said he never felt so ashamed in his 
life — to have all us boys abed, and you working like that. So 
we were all up the next morning ; father called us before it was 
light, and he said you were oft for all that ! so we scrambled 
up the Park in the dark, and rare good fun we had, and we got 
such a heap before school ! and the next morning we were up 
and out before you passed by — for father watched ; so then we 
thought that was something ! And I asked father if I might 
not tell you what we were after ; and he said, not till we had 
something to show : but if you will please to come and see, 
there ’s something to speak for us now — father said I might 
ask.” This overflow of cheerful words was poured out as the 
poor boy by the side of the rich hastened back to look at the 
gathered wood : quick-footed they were — those happy traffick- 
ers in the blessed merchandise of purest charity ! And now 
they reached the gamekeeper’s cottage, they hastened round it 
to the little yard behind ; there rose the piled-up stack of wood 
which the friendly winds had strewed all ready for those youth* 
ful gleaners’ hands — branches large and small, branches old and 
sere — piled up in a stack as high as Herbert from the ground. 
And the r e beside it stood the gamekeeper’s two younger boys. 


no 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Jonathan and Benjamin; and there stood the mothei with her 
infant in her arms, curious to see the young Squire’s reception 
of so new and uncommon a gift ; and there stood the tall game- 
keeper with one hand upon the stack he had stooped to help 
his children to rear, with a smile upon his pleasant face in which 
many a feeling mingled — the consciousness of effort for the 
needy, of labor whose only recompense was love, and not the 
least, perhaps, a sense, a welcome sense, of one work upon earth, 
and that the noblest, in which his own young boys stood side by 
side with their young master*. 

“ Well, this is capital,” said Herbert, “ capital, I declare ! you 
good little fellows ! that was being of some use in the world.” 
And the boys looked on in silence, with faces of delight — ad- 
mitted in that moment to a partnership of heartfelt interest for 
the poor and needy. 

“ It was a capital thought, Linton,” said Herbert, now address- 
ing himself to the gamekeeper. “ I was terribly done up how to 
get firewood for old Willy just now, and never thought of the 
dead branches about, and if I had, I should have been a month 
getting up such a stack as this ; but now the question is, how to 
get it. to the cottage ?” 

“ Well, sir,” said the gamekeeper, “ that ’s soon settled. I can 
put the horse in the light cart in a minute, and we can soon 
have it there.” 

“ Well, I wish you would, Linton, the sooner the better. And 
Jonathan, you must run to the stables, and say I am not going 
to ride this morning.” And then Herbert, and gamekeeper, and 
children, and the mother with her infant on one arm, all laid in 
and threw in the gathered branches, till not a useable twig re- 
main 3d behind. 

“ There Linton, thank you, that will do, we can manage the 
rest. Now, Richard and Jonathan, in with you, and let us have 




















MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Ill 


little Benjamin, too — lie can hold the horse so Benjamin was 
lifted in, and then the gamekeeper ran to open the gate, and he 
looked after the light cart from the gateway, and his wife from 
the cottage door, the children hidden by the piled-up wood be- 
hind them, associated in one work with the young Squire — and 
that the work of love and mercy. 

Old Willy was sitting with his cottage door wide open, for the 
day was bright, and, sheltered by his fireside, he liked to look 
out on the pleasant, face of nature, while the sun did gleam a 
little after the long cold winter. Up drove the light cart. Her- 
bert jumped out ; and, while the boys were getting out, he hastily 
took down the movable stile, and running up the straight garden- 
path, exclaimed, “ Here is no end of wood coming for you, Wil- 
ly ! Linton’s boys have picked it up in the Park; we will put 
it all in the shed.” And then he ran back to the cart ; the boys 
had already tilted it, shooting the wood into the road, where it 
lay in large scattered heaps. Little Benjamin stood at the 
horse’s head, just high enough to stroke the creature’s face, 
which was stooped down in recognition to the child, proving 
also a signal to the horse, that this was a time to stand still. 
Backward and forward went the boys, laden with the old man’s 
wood — who could tire in such a labor ! — while with a smile of 
peace the old man watched them at their work. 

“ Come, Benjamin,” at last said Herbert, “ the horse under- 
stands it well enough, you may help us carry.” And little Ben- 
jamin came t/ the heap, and caught up a sear old branch 
highet than himself, clasping it round with both arms, his little 
pinafore dragged up by the first stooping act of embrace, run- 
ning ofl with it to the shed — and the horse looked round after 
his little watcher, but he saw evident proof that the business was 
pressing, so he did his part and stood perfectly still. 

When the light labor was over — labor in which the heart 


112 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


eased the hand — Herbert, looking with complete satisfaction at 
the well-filled shed, said, “ Now let us each carry a .og up for 
the fire.” Little Benjamin, as was to be expected, chose out the 
biggest he could see — perhaps because most inviting to the yet 
unmeasuring thought of his infant spirit ; he toiled with it after the 
bigger boys, the young Squire going first, and when at last, with 
desperate effort, he cast it on the hearth — his brothers laughing at 
its size — his still sturdy figure overbalanced, and, but for Herbert’s 
instant spring, he would have fallen himself upon the burning 
wood in this his first ministry of love for the poor and feeble. 

“ There, Willy !” said Herbert, “ now we will all shake hands 
with you, and be off again.” So they had each a hearty shake 
of the hand ; but little Benjamin lifted his baby face to old 
Willy for a kiss — that being the only token of good-will he as 
yet understood ; and then they all ran down the narrow path, 
fixed in the stile, sprang over it — little Benjamin tumbling after 
them — then up into the light cart, and merrily home again : 
while old Willy, raising his eyes and hands, exclaimed, “ Sure of 
such is the kingdom of heaven. 1” 

The gamekeeper, still on the watch, was at the open gate 
with his bow and smile of welcome ; never had he looked on 
his young master with such hope and reverence as now — when 
he drove in with the light cart by his children’s side, from their 
labor of love. “ Benjamin was a capital helper !” said Herbert, 
as the child’s father lifted him down. 

“ Shall we get any more, sir ?” asked Richard. 

“ 0, yes, when you like,” replied Herbert. “ It ’s worth any 
thing to have a store in hand !” 

And the boys made their bow in response to Herbert’s 
“ Good-by,” and returned to their cottage quite decided that 
there was no pleasure now like gathering wood for old Willy and 
their j'oung master; and it was fully evident that old Willy 
was in no farther danger of perishing for want of firewood. 


CHAPTER IX 


“ Bcttei Is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof; and the patient in spirit 
Is better than the proud in spirit.'” — E ooles. vil. 8. 

away, and the morning came of the first of 
month Herbert had found himself left 
without the aid of money ; and during that month he had dis- 
covered that true wealth consisteth not in gold and silver, and 
houses and lands, but in the love of earth and heaven. In that 
month Herbert had also learned how to become possessed of this 
true wealth; he had cultivated prayer, and faith, and effort, 
and they had all taken root within his heart — there they grew, 
watered by the Divine Word, and love from above and from 
around responded to them. Herbert had set himself to learn 
the lesson that at first looked so hard to him ; he turned to the 
heavenly Counselor — to whom none ever turned with their 
whole heart in vain — and he had found that the knowledge of 
Wisdom was sweet to his soul, and that verily in keeping God’s 
commandments there is great reward. 

Herbert remembered what day it was, when he woke, and 
thoughts of the past, the present, and the future filled his mind ; 
but he knew where to take his thoughts now — even to a heav- 
enly Father’s feet ; and when we take our thoughts and plant 
them by prayer at our heavenly Father’s feet, they are sure to 
spring up and bear sweet fruit, in God’s best time, to His glory 
and our comfort — however bitter they might be when we took 


TTIEBRUARY passed 
March. A whole 


114 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


them there. The light of the early spring morning was shining 
peacefully into Herbert’s room ; he opened his window and 
breathed the keen freshness of the air ; the first blight beams of 
day seemed lingering in the heavens — their vailed radiance 
gently dispersing the darkness of earth, before they rose above 
and poured their beams upon it. Leafless and still lay the 
misty woods ; but the wakeful deer were already feeding, side 
by side, on the young herbage ; for the creatures not made to 
labor in the sin-defiled service of man need but short slumber 
to refresh them. Herbert heard the sheep-bell tinkle- in the 
distance — the sheep-bell of his father’s flock, and the sound led 
his thoughts to Jem, and on to old Willy ; and then he looked 
on the gamekeeper’s cottage, just visible from his window 
among the tall fir-trees, and his kindly feeling gathered round 
his little helpers there ; and his thought turned homeward, 
where one short month seemed to have made all doubly dear to 
him — and from that hallowed resting-place he looked up into 
the rosy sky, and remembered the dark wintry night and the 
heavy gloomy clouds on which he had gazed only a month 
before, and he thought again of his sister’s words, “ There is no 
darkness upon earth that God can not lighten and in the 
peace-giving assurance of the same faith, he shut his window 
md turned in quiet feeling to his studies. 

“ What can this be ?” said Herbert to himself, as he took up 
a small white paper parcel lying beside his desk ; it was not 
there when he went to rest, some one must have been into his 
room after he had fallen asleep. It was directed in his father’s 
hand-writing. He opened it ; there was a note within. 

“ Mr dearest Boy, 

“ The pain of a month ago was well worth enduring for the 
thankfulness of heart that, I trust, we both feel to-day. I did 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


116 


not wish to make you pool, but only to lead you to discover 
what poverty really is — lest you should be deceived by the out- 
ward show of wealth, and have supposed that, having that, you 
were of necessity rich. But now, I trust, my highest wish may 
be realized, and you found rich even in poverty — if this world’s 
poverty should ever be your lot — rich in the love, and grace, 
and the blessing of God, from which nothing can separate — rich 
in the will, the wisdom, and the power of effort. I therefore 
gladly renew your allowance of the useful coin, on which I trust 
you will not now place a false dependence and value. And 
as your interests in life are so happily enlarged, I enlarge your 
means of meeting them by doubling your monthly income. 
Only remember, that you will need the heavenly Counselor 
quite as much with your purse as without it ; — it was the wisest 
of men who said, 4 He that hearkeneth unto counsel is wise !’ 

“ Your affectionate father, 

44 H. Clifford.” 

The golden treasure lay folded within. Herbert could scarcely 
believe himself possessed of so much money ; he put it safe in 
his desk, determined to keep it with the greatest care ; then he 
looked at his watch, for he longed to go to his father, but it was 
too early yet to hope for that, so he took his books ; but his 
thoughts wandered away to his new possession, and a ceaseless 
succession of things that might be done with it, presented them- 
selves to his mind. A new world of living interest lay freshly 
discovered around him, and he had never yet tried the effect of 
money’s aid on any object in it ; so that his fancy was busy 
with a thousand thoughts, and his lessons lay unlearned. But 
suddenly a voice spoke within Herbert’s heart — a still small 
voice — and it whispered there, 44 Every good gift, and every per- 
fect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of 


110 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turn 
ing.” The words were familiar to him ; he had himself hid 
them within his heart ; he had read them, learned them ; they 
were part of the very first chapter he had turned to in his time 
of trouble, and now in his hour of prosperity they rose up 
within his soul and spoke to him, and taught him now as that 
same chapter had taught him then — it had led him in his 
trouble to pray — it led him now in his prosperity to give thanks. 
Herbert remembered that while he had longed to run to meet 
his earthly father, he had not hastened to give thanks to that 
Heavenly Father — the Father of all his light and comfort, from 
whom this good gift came to him. O, happy child, who binds 
the word of God by memory’s help upon his heart — “ When he 
goeth, it shall lead him ; when he sleepeth, it shall keep him ; 
when he awaketh, it shall talk with him. For the command- 
ment is a lamp, and the law is light ; and reproofs of instruction 
are the way of life.” Herbert had been afraid to go so early to 
his earthly father, but our Heavenly Father’s presence is always 
open to His children, His ear always ready to listen to their 
roice ; and when Herbert had hastened where the Divine Word 
called him, then he found that he could return to his lessons 
and learn them — strengthened against the imaginations that be- 
fore had led his thoughts wandering away from his books ; for 
when we have been speaking to our Father in heaven, whatever 
it may be that we have had to say to Him, we are sure to come 
back to our next duty better able to fulfill it, than before we 
went into the presence of God and talked with Him. Now 
Herbert studied diligently ; so quickly he learned that he was 
able to lay by his books — his lessons all prepared — ten minutes 
before the nine o’clock prayer-bell rang. He hastened down to 
look for his father ; he knocked at the study-door, and was ad- 
mitted there. No one knew what Herbert said to his father, or 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


117 


what his father said to him ; but every one could see the glad- 
ness of Herbert’s face as he came in to prayers by his father’s 
side. His mother and his sister were happy in his joy, and all 
was brightness at the morning meal. 

Herbert thought that when he had finished his lessona he 
would go and call on old Willy : he did not mean to be in any 
haste to lay out his money, he only thought he should like to 
know how he should feel in old Willy’s cottage, now that he had 
money to spend ; so after his studies were over, he set out for 
the cottage. Old Willy was walking about in his garden, where 
every thing looked fresh after the rain that had fallen the whole 
of the day before, and the early part of the night. Eighty years 
old Willy had lived in that cottage ; it was there that he was 
born, and he had never slept a night from under its roof; and 
now he watched the dwelling’s decay much as he watched the 
failure of his own bodily powers ; sometimes with an anxious 
fear that the old building after all should not cover his aged 
head to the last, for it had been left so long without repair that 
its decay had become very rapid. Many people wondered that 
the old man would live in such a place, and still more, that he 
went on paying the same rent for it as they did for their warm 
abodes ; but Willy had a hard landlord ; he must pay his full 
rent, or he must go ; and the thought of changing that old 
place for any other would have seemed to him like leaving his 
native land for a strange country. Herbert stood in the cottage- 
garden beside old Willy ; but a black cloud overhead burst in a 
pelting shower, and Herbert and old Willy took refuge within 
by the low embers of the wood-fire. “ I will make that fire up 
when the storm is over,” said Herbert, as he drew out the low 
stool and sat down close in front of old Willy, to make him hear 
the more easily when he spoke to him. And then he looked 
-ound the room with the eyes of one who felt that he had money 


118 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


at his disposal, but who also felt that he had learned the use of 
his own hands. 

“ Why, I declare,” at last exclaimed Herbert, getting up, and 
going to the middle of the room, “ if there is not a hole here a 
foot deep — what a frightful hole ! Why, it is a foot and a half 
deep ! I could fill up that in no time, and lay in a couple of 
bricks to match the rest of the floor, which is all about as bai 
as it can be !” 

“ No, thank you, master,” replied old Willy, “ it would be no 
charity to fill that hole up ; I could not live in the old place 
without it, and I am often trying after making it a bit bigger.” 

“ What do you mean, Willy ?” said Herbert, still standing over 
the hole ; “ such a place as that can be of no use except to 
break one’s leg in, just in the middle of the floor here !” And 
Herbert put his own foot in, which went down up to his knee. 

But old Willy made answer, “ Ah, master, there are those who 
know the use of many a thing, that some above them would do 
away with, and never think of the trial they would leave behind !” 
Old Willy did not mean to make any allusion to his log when 
tumbled into the ditch ; but Herbert remembered it, and stood 
silent, looking down into the hole. Then old Willy, rising 
slowly, said, “ I will show you the use of it, master. There is 
never a heavy rain but the old roof drips all over, and just above 
that hoie the water pours down in a stream sometimes enough 
to drown the place ; you may see the light through, if you look 
up that way,” said old Willy, pointing to a particular place in 
the roof with his stick ; “ and so I scooped out this hole, and 
then, if the rain be not long, the water settles there, instead of 
flooding the old place ; but if it holds long there, I fall to ladling 
it out as it comes ; but it is dangerous, I know, for all that, and 
I always keep a slip of an old board over it ; but last night it 
mined piteous ; I was up half the night ladling it out as I best 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


no 


could, and I left it open to-day and even as old Willy spoke 
the rain-drops began to drip from the roof, and a small stream 
to pour down into the ready-made hole. 

u Is it always like this when it rains ?” asked Herbert, indig* 
nantly. 

“ No, master, not when the rain is soon over ; but you see the 
old thatch was ringing wet before this shower came, and it is 
always bad when the rain holds any while. I was dragging 
about my old bedstead in the dead of last night, trying to get 
some place to lie down in where the rain would not drip on 
me, and I could not find so much as a dry corner to lay my 
head under. I was wholly worn out, and I thought it seemed 
so hard to pay the rent I did so regular, and then not to be 
able to find a place to lie down in ! And I sat down on my 
old bed and cried ; but then those words rose up in my heart, 
‘ The Son of man hath not where to lay his head !’ And 0 
how ashamed I felt to be fretting there, just as it seemed be- 
cause I was like my Lord ! and then I thought how all the 
world was His, and He had made it so beautiful for us sinful 
creatures to dwell in ! and yet he had not so much as a place 
He could call His own in it, but was forced to go up the 
mountains, when He was seeking after getting by Himself 
alone. And so I felt wholly ashamed, and lighted up my fire 
and my candle, and got looking into my Book, where it speaks 
about that place He is gone to prepare for the like of me, 
whom the Book says he came to save ! And then, when the 
rain gave over, I laid down, and, to my thinking, I had one of 
the best sleeps I ever had under the old roof^ thanks be to Him 
who gave it.” 

“ But,” said Herbert, “ I should just like to know who it 
is that pretends to let you such a place as this, and call it a 
bouse 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


1*20 

w It ’s a Master Sturgeon that owns the place, sir ; this house 
and the bit of land round it was left to him by a relation ; ’tis 
all that he has in the parish. He is well to do in the world, I 
have heard say ; but to my thinking it ’s sometimes them that 
have most who see the most use in laying of it up, instead of 
laying of it out ; for if I have asked him once, to be sure I 
have twenty times, when I carried in my rent, to be so good as 
to lay out so much as a few shillings of it on the old place ; but 
he never gave the least heed in the world, nor yet to lower the 
rent, though I never owed him a shilling ; so I have given up 
asking, and now ’tis too bad for mending.” 

“ Then let him put on a new roof !” replied Herbert. 

“ Well, to be sure, sir, that might mend it ; but them that love 
money, why, ’tis hard for them to part with it when there is 
not a necessity.” 

“ But there is a necessity ! are you to lie all night long with 
water dripping over you, when we should not suffer a drop to 
rain through in our dog-kennel ?” 

“ No, master, ’tis very true ; but an old man like me, that ’s 
past being any use to any body, and only lies like a burden on 
the parish, why, ’tis not to he expected that any one should 
look after me ! and no doubt Master Sturgeon thinks the old 
place will hold out the old man ; and then may be he will do 
something different by it ; hut you see them that are after money, 
why, ’tis not their way to be after parting with it for them that 
are past being any use to any one, like as I am now.” 

Old Willy had seated himself again in his chair, and Her- 
bert had drawn his stool close to it, his face raised to old 
Willy’s ; and now he laid his hand on old Willy’s knee, and 
said, “ Willy, dear old Willy ! you are of use, you are of the 
greatest use to me ; I have been a great deal happier, and get 
on a hundred times better since I first came to see after you 1 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


121 


I should not know what to do without you, now ; and no one 
can or shall think you a burden !” 

“ The good Lord above bless you !” said the old man, as he 
laid his labor-worn hand on the little soft one that rested on 
his knee. Old Willy said no more, and Herbert sat lost in 
thought a few moments, then looking up again full of ear- 
nestness, he said, “ I tell you what, Willy, you shall not lie 
without a dry roof over you, to be rained upon all night long ; 
I say it, Willy, you shall not ; and if your landlord has no 
thought for you, there is some one who has, and who has the 
power, too !” 

“ Yes, master, blessed be God, don’t I know His own words 
— ‘ I go to prepare a place for you !’ and they come in to 
comfort me aftei every trouble, like the bow ’cross the dark cloud.” 

“ Yes, Willy, but I don’t mean our Saviour ; I mean some 
one here who can help you, and who will. I mean that I can, 
and I shall ; and it won’t be like the coals, Willy, for I have 
the money now of my own !” 

The aged Willy looked inquiringly on the bright young 
face, in which love for the old man, joy at the power, and earn- 
est purpose to aid and comfort were all blended in full express- 
ion ; but he did not say any thing, for he did not quite take in 
the idea that any one except the landlord, and still less the 
child at his knee, could think of new-roofing his cottage. But 
while he looked in inquiring silence, Herbert suddenly remem- 
bered the time, and wishing him then a hearty “ good-by,” not 
without another assurance that old Willy would soon see what 
would be done to the roof ! he took his leave. 

As Herbert pursued his homeward way he began to think, 
what would his father say to his new promise ? He thought 
of his letter that morning received, and the only part that awoke 
a fear was the last sentence in it, “ Remember, he' that hearken* 

6 


122 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


eth unto counsel is wise.” “ Perhaps, then,” thought Herbert, 
“ I ought to have consulted papa first ; hut who that had the 
money could help saying it should be done ! I don’t believe papa 
could, and I will tell him so if he objects ; but he will not object 
now, because I have the money all my own, and he has never 
found fault with me for spending my own money as I liked, 
and he must be glad I should spend it in keeping old Willy 
dry ; though his landlord ought to do it ; yet if he won’t, some 
one must, or old Willy must be left to perish !” So Herbert 
braced up his courage and went to dinner, but still he felt some 
difficulty in telling of an engagement that must consume his 
whole month’s allowance, entered into on the day of receiving 
it ; but what could he have done better with it ? again he 
thought ; so after being silent through dinner, he ventured when 
the dessert was on the table to begin, “ Papa, I hope I have not 
cut my fingers again, but if I have, I really believe you would 
have done the same if you had been in my place !” 

“ Very likely,” replied his father, “ I have done so in your 
sense of the phrase, more than once or twice, and it is the ex- 
perience I learned by such mistakes, that I would gladly use to 
guard you.” 

Again Herbert thought to himself, “ Ah ! papa means I 
should consult him ; — I wish I had, but it ’s too late now !” 

“ Well, papa, I may as well tell you at once ; I have been to 
see old Willy, and, would you believe it ? every rainy night his 
thatch drips with water from every part, and a stream pours 
down in the middle of his room, and he has dug a hole in the 
floor to catch the water ; a deep hole in wnich he might break 
his leg any day, and his landlord won’t do ary thing to the roof 
to mend it !” 

u And so my son Herbert is going to do the landlord’s work 
far him, I suppose ?” said Mr. Clifford. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


123 


u Not for the landlord, papa ; I would send him to prison if 1 
could ! hut for old Willy ; he can not do it for himself, and if no 
one will do it for him, why he must die from wet and damp. 
What else could 1 do, when I had money of my own, papa ?” 

“ You could not do otherwise if the love of God was in your 
heart, and the means in your hand, and no reason against it 
strong enough to prevent: but I am afraid there is a strong 
reason against your doing it, which, if you had consulted me 
first, I could haye told you.” 

“ What reason, papa ?” asked Herbert ; and again his heart 
sank within him, and the secret wish again was ready to rise, 
that in this case he had let charity alone. 

“ There is this reason against it — that there are men in this 
parish comparatively poor, owning a cottage or two, and keep- 
ing them in good repair, when I know they must often feel the 
want of all the money they can get: and there is this one 
wretched dwelling, owned by a man who could rebuild it and 
not miss the money so spent ; but, because he will not spare 
enough to put a dry roof over it, are those poor but honest men, 
who have made it their care to keep their tenants comfortable, 
to see the aid, never extended to them, bestowed on an unprin- 
cipled man who withholds the right of his tenant from him ?” 

“ But then, papa, should old Willy be left to perish because 
that miser of a man will not do what is right ?” 

“ Old Willy need not perish ; and though I have no doubt it 
would distress him to leave the house in which he was born, still 
we must not discourage good and honest men by aiding a bad 
one, to save old Willy this pain.” 

“ But, papa, I have promised !” 

“ O, my boy, why so hasty ! Could you not have asked your 
father first ? But if we afterward find that any thing would 
make the fulfillment of a promise a wrong act toward others, we 


124 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


must acknowledge it, and endeavor to the utmost to obtain the 
Bame object in a right way.” 

“ Well, papa, I am sure I don’t know who could ever have 
stopped to think of the whole parish of landlords, when they saw 
that one poor suffering old man ! What can I do to keep my 
promise in another way ?” 

I think the best thing would he to go yourself to the land- 
lord, and try to awaken a right feeling on the subject.” 

“ It ’s no use to ask him, papa ; old Willy asked till he gave 
up in despair.” 

“ You have not tried him yourself yet,” replied Mr. Clifford ; 
“ and you can not say that it would be of no use till the trial is 
made. The prophet Nehemiah, in his appeal to the heathen 
king, will teach us better — if we only set about our requests to 
others as he did, with prayer to the God of Heaven, we may be 
answered as he was. So do not be discouraged, my boy, but 
try it in prayer and faith, and you will most surely find, sooner 
or later, that you went not alone to the work.” 

“ But, papa, I should hate to see the man ; I should be sure 
to get into a passion with him.” 

“ Then you had better not put yourself in his way, for if you 
have no rule over your own spirit, you certainly have no hope 
of success with another !” 

“ But how could I help it, papa ?” 

“ Only by having more of the spirit of Him who commendeth 
His love toward us, in ‘ that while we were yet sinners, Christ 
died for us.’ And in truth old Willy’s rich landlord is more to 
be pitied than old Willy. Old Willy can suffer but a little 
time : a little moment — and his light affliction will be over for 
ever ; for he is the heir of an eternal kingdom ; but the other 
must have his portion with that rich man we read of in the 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


125 


Bible, who lifted up his eyes in torment — and 'hat for ever, if 
his heart is not changed.” 

“ I am sure I wish it may be changed, papa, for old Willy’s 
sake as well as his own ; but I don’t seem to feel any hope.” 

Here the conversation was interrupted, and Herbert was soon 
at his sister’s side. “ Is it not dreadful, Mary, to have to talk to 
such a man ?” 

“ Yes, dear Herbert, I dare say you feel it so ; but you 
remember our Saviour was continually talking with those who 
were always sinning against His Heavenly Father ; and if we 
follow His example, we may do even the wicked good — with the 
help and blessing of God.” 

“ Well,” replied Herbert, “ I am sure charity is the steepest 
hill I ever climbed ; I get a slip every step I try at; and how to 
get up again is more than I can tell !” 

“ But have you not found that there is One standing on that 
steep hill-side, to lift you up again when you fall ? Did not the 
Heavenly Counselor stoop to lift you up before ? and did He 
not show you a friend to help you ? It is better to fall at His 
feet, than to stand where He is not ! And if the hill be steep 
there is always sunshine on the top. Was there not sunshine 
for you when you stood on the last of old Willy’s log, and saw 
it all ready for his use ?” 

“ Yes, that was pleasant enough.” 

“ And so it will be when you stand in old Willy’s garden, and 
look with him on the new roof of his cottage.” 

“ O, Mary, do you think it really will be done, then ?” 

“ Yes, I have no doubt about it — when the right time comes — 
if we do not give up hope and effort.” 

“ O dear,” sighed Herbert, “ how glad I shall be when to-mor- 
row is over ! I think this is a worse job than the old log — bul 
I will try at it for all that.” 


120 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


« You will not think it worse when the end cones, dear 
Herbert.” 

“But, Mary, you don’t know the end; what is it makes you 
sure it will be good ?” 

“ Because I am quite sure whenever we try to help the poor, 
n a right spirit, and in a right way, that God is with us, and will 
not suffer our effort to fall to che ground.” 

“ Well, Mary, now we shall see — I will try to do it as you and 
papa say I ought, because I know you understand all about 
charity, and then I will see what the end of it is !” 

“ Very well,” said his sister, with a smile, “ I agree ; for I 
know none ever leaned upon and watched that unseen Hand 
in vain !” 

Herbert then stood pledged to go forth the next day in the 
cause of the poor and needy — the young child of earth and 
Heaven was to stand, for the first time in his life, face to face 
“ with the man of the earth,” the poor man’s oppressor ; no 
wonder that he could think of little else ! He went early to 
his room, and, like the stripling David, preparing to encounter 
the champion of Gath — he made ready to meet the stronger 
giant of Oppression. I do not mean that Herbert ran to chbose 
himself smooth stones from the brook for his sling — no, the 
weapons of his warfare were of another kind : Herbert went 
to the living stream of God’s most holy Word, the pebbles he 
wanted lay there ; he went to the very part from which he had 
gathered often before, even the Epistle of St. James ; he chose 
the texts he thought would suit him best, and his heart was 
the sling in which he laid them ready for use ; he had learned 
all the epistle before, but now he looked upon it that he might, 
choose what seemed best for his purpose, and, having chosen, he 
lay down to sleep. 

The next morning Herbert did the best he could with his 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


127 


lessons, but liis heart was heavy, and he met his tutor ill -pre- 
pared ; happily for him he had worked so well for the past 
month that his tutor readily listened to his assurance that he 
had done his best, and seeing that something lay heavy on his 
thoughts, allowed him to carry on the imperfect lessons to the 
next day, to be prepared with his fresh tasks — instead of de- 
taining him after hours. So at the time for his afternoon ride 
his ponies were ordered round, and, having been in to his 
mother and sister, and asked them to think of him all the time, 
he set forth slowly on swift-footed Araby, and his groom, on 
young Ruby, followed slowly behind. 

First he went to old Willy’s to tell him the sorrowful tale of 
a disappointed purpose. He found him seated by his wood fire, 
with his Bible, that constant companion of his blessed old age, 
before him. Herbert had no doubt that old Willy’s thoughts 
were full of the new roof, and he feared that the old man would 
never trust him again after such a disappointment as he had 
now to bring. But the truth was, that old Willy, not being 
quick of understanding, had never taken the idea of a new roof 
into his mind ; he was looking again upon the precious words 
that told him of the mansions in Heaven that his Saviour was 
gone to prepare, and he had forgotten all about the last day’s 
conversation. Herbert began, “ Willy, I don’t see any use in 
my making a promise to help any one, for I can never keep my 
word when I do !” 

“ Well, master, I have read in those good sayings that stand 
next to the Psalms in my Book, how that ‘ the desire of a man 
is his kindness !’ I can show it you, for I always keep a bit of 
a mark tucked in at that, and it often comforts my old heart 
when I think ipon others, and there ’s nothing but a prayer I 
can do for them. Here ’t is, master ! I don’t know the num- 
bers — n o‘ to say where the words are, but you will if you look.” 


128 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


u Yes, Willy,” said Herbert, heavily, “ but it puts me quite 
out of heart that I must not make a new roof to keep you dry ! 
Papa thinks it would go against those who keep their houses 
as they ought, if I did it for a rich man who could so easily do 
it for himself. So I am just going to tell your landlord how bad 
it is, and to see if he will not be persuaded to do it himself ; but 
l declare I don’t see much hope any way !” 

Old Willy, perceiving that something troubled his young mas- 
ter, had strained his utmost powers of attention ; but Herbert’s 
tone was low, and the sentence long, and all that old Willy laid 
hold of were the last words — “ I don’t see much hope any way !” 
he did not understand what the hope related to, but his bright 
faith had always an answer to the tone of despondency, so he 
replied at once, “ 0, master, there ’s always a hope up above ! 
and that ’s always a leading me on, and sure that ’s enough for 
them that have it !” 

“ Well, Willy, good-by,” said Herbert, with a sorrowful look 
at the old man’ and the old place ; and the ministering boy 
passed away in his sadness, and the old man looked with trou- 
bled face after him, troubled not for his unrepaired roof — for the 
thought of that he had not taken in — but troubled because he 
saw the shade upon the bright young face that of late had en- 
tered his dwelling like the first glad sunbeam of spring ; and the 
old man breathed a silent prayer for the child, and then looked 
again on the Words of Life. 

Herbert reached the town — the town where Mr. Mansfield 
lived and little Jane, the town where little Ruth and Patience 
dwelt — the town was reached, and then the street, and then 
the house ; there was the name of Mr. Sturgeon in large letters 
on the brass-plate on the door. Mr. Sturgeon was at home, 
and Herbert went in. Herbert took the chair Mi. Sturgeon 
handed to him, and said, “ I am come to ask you to repair the 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


129 


cottage of Willy Green ; the roof is so bad that the rain drips 
through all night long, when the weather is very wet.” Mr. 
Sturgeon’s countenance fell, and he replied, “ I make a point, 
sir, of knowing the state of all my property, and I am sorry 
that in this case I can not meet your request.” 

“ Is there any reason why the roof should not be mended ?” 
asked Herbert. 

“ Yes, the best of reasons,” replied Mr. Sturgeon; “ I long ago 
made up my mind not to lay out another shilling on the old 
place ; my wish is to sell it, and I might have done so several 
times over before now, but I could not get my price ; and when 
[ have once named my price, I never take less, let the risk of 
loss to myself be what it may.” 

“ Do you mean that you would sell the place over old Willy, 
and turn him out ?” 

“ Well, I suppose whoever buys it will hardly wish to keep 
him in : the fact is, that three cottages might be built on that 
piece of land, and three times the monby made of it. I do 
not wish to undertake the thing myself, but I mean to sell it 
as a piece capable of bringing in three times the money it has 
done.” 

“ It would break old Willy’s heart to turn him out !” said 
Herbert, earnestly ; “ and you would not like to take away all 
his comfort for a little more money 

“ Indeed, sir, I am sorry for the old man ; but if his affection 
is so strong for brick and mortar, I am afraid I can not engage 
to secure his comfort to him ! I look upon im.ney as a means 
of comfort to many ; I am a genera upporter of charitable in- 
stitutions, but if I turned out of my way for the fancies of every 
old man or old woman, I must soon curtail my charities.” 

“ But,” said Herbert, “ when our way is not God’s way, it is 
boat to turn out of it — is it not ?” 


130 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ I beg your pardon, sir, I do not understand you,” replied 
Mr. Sturgeon. 

Then Herbert took the first of his treasured pebbles Irom the 
brook — even his first text from St. James, and he replied, “ The 
Bible says, that ‘ the Lord is very pitiful and of tender mercy’ — 
that is God’s way.” 

“ Indeed, I hope so,” replied Mr. Sturgeon, “ or, I am afraid 
the best of us will stand but a poor chance.” 

“ But,” added Herbert, taking another of his texts, “ the 
Bible says also, that ‘ he shall have judgment without mercy 
that hath showed no mercy ;’ so won’t you show mercy to old 
Willy ?” 

“ You want me,” replied Mr. Sturgeon, “ for the sake of one old 
man, to curtail my means of bestowing charity on the many.” 

Herbert had tried hard to keep his indignation down, but 
now it rose, and he replied, “ You have taken old Willy’s rent 
for a place not fit for any. one to live in, and you can never do 
charity with such money ! God asks poor people in the Bible 
if rich men have oppressed them ; and will you not be afraid 
when God asks old Willy ?” 

Mr. Sturgeon replied, “ I must be allowed my own opinion of 
justice, as well as you ; the old man would not stay, I suppose, if 
the place was not worth more to him than the money he pays ; 
there is nothing but his own will to detain him.” 

“ But there is not an empty cottage in the village,” replied Her- 
bert, “ to which old Willy would go, if he wished ever so much !” 

Mr. Sturgeon replied, “ Every one knows there is a house 
large enough to receive him close by ; and, for my part, I think 
the work- house the best place for such helpless old people.” 

“ 0, Mr. Sturgeon, you do not understand the thing, and so 
you do wrong, and think it right ! Old Willy is not Helpless, 
he can do every thing for himself, and read the Bible, too ; and 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


131 


if he were foiced to go into that heap of people in the work- 
house, he would lose all his quiet. The Bible says, ‘ Thou shalt 
love thy neighbor as thyself !’ ” This was the last pebble Her- 
bert had chosen for his sling — the last selected text from St. 
Tames, but the oppressor felt it not. Every rejected word of Holy 
Scripture, which seems to fall powerless at the hardened sin 
uer’s feet, will one day rise again, to descend upon him with 
a millstone weight, crushing his soul for ever. O, let the sin- 
ner then beware how he reasons away and rejects the awful 
Word of God ! 

Mr. Sturgeon only replied, “ My principle, sir, is, 4 Let every 
one see to his own interest and, in a free country like ours, where 
the laws are good, and the observance of them strictly enforced, 
I do not know a principle likely to work better for all.” 

“ Have you read the last chapter of the Epistle of St. James ?” 
asked Herbert. 

“ Certainly I have, sir ; I am fully acquainted with all you 
may wish to urge on such a foundation.” 

“ Will you not, then, put a new roof over old Willy with the 
money he has so long paid you for rent ?” 

“ I have given you my answer, sir, and I must decline all in- 
terference between me and my tenant.” 

“ Then I must wish you good day, Mr. Sturgeon ; and may 
old Willy’s God forgive you !” 

Herbert rode away. When free from the town, large tears 
came fast ; he felt overcome with his effort, but the sweet aii 
kissed his burning cheeks and breathed over his temples ; he 
looked up into the clear blue sky, as only the child of the Holy 
Heaven — the child of the God of the poor and needy — can look. 
Yet his heart was heavy, and on his face the shades of sin and 
sorrow rested — how could it be otherwise ? He would not 
pass old Willy’s house ; he lelt as if he could not bear to see 


132 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


the old man on this his sad return, so he took the further road 
to his home, which led round by Mr. Smith’s farm. Suddenly 
Jem appeared in sight — coming along the distant road ; he had 
just folded his sheep, and was returning home to his supper, 
A moment more, and Araby bore his young master to the side 
of honest Jem. Jem stood still, and Herbert threw himself from 
his saddle, intent on his subject of thought, and stood leaning 
on Araby’s neck — the most effectual way of keeping his impa- 
tient steed quiet. There stood the eager boy — the child of for- 
tune, looking up to that poor lad, as if his earthly treasury of 
hope ai.d help were garnered in his breast : and there stood the 
shepherd youth with head uncovered, looking down with loving 
reverence on that young face upraised to his. 

“ 0, Jem,” said Herbert, “ there is no one in the world I 
should have been so glad to meet as you ! I am in another 
trouble, and if you can not help me, there is no one can now. 
Old Willy’s roof lets all the rain-drops through upon him ; I 
have been to his landlord, and he will not do any thing, but talks 
of selling the place over his head ! It will break old Willy’s 
heart ! What can be done ?” 

Jem passed his hand across his forehead, “ W T ell, sir, excuse 
me ; but one thing at a time, as the saying is, and maybe we 
shall manage them all.” 

“ What ! do you see any hope, Jem ?” 

“ Well, sir, ’tis a hard case when hope be clean gone ! But the 
loof — did you say that ’s bad ?” 

“ Yes, terribly bad — holes all over !” 

“ Maybe I could stop them up,” said Jem ; “ master would not 
be against letting me have a little straw for that — that ’s certain.” 

“ No, Jem, old Willy says it ’s past all mending ; and c.o I 
am sure it is * why, it drips all over when the rain lasts any 
time !” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


133 


“ That’s ahard case,” replied Jem, “when mending won’t do 
it, and there’s none to make ! as the saying is. But I never 
found the trouble yet that I did n’t see a light through when I 
had been after it a bit — and may be I shall in this.” 

“ O, that’s right, Jem ! I don’t mind any thing now I have 
met you. But what do you think of that wretched landlord 
saying he means to sell the old place, when he can get his 
price for it ? ” 

•‘Well, sir, ‘ when’ is a long day — sometimes longer than they 
think for that fix it ! And there’s more than one to be consid- 
ered in this, I take it.” 

“.What do you mean, Jem ?” 

“ Why, sir, when my poor mother was left a widow and I 
was but a child, with nothing to look to but her, many's the 
time I have seen her cast down till her spirits were wholly 
gone, and then she would say, ‘Well, child, “ the king’s heart is 
in the hands of the Lord,” and so things may turn yet/ And, 
to be sure, how they did turn 1 Once, I remember, we were as 
near as any thing to being sent right away to our own parish, 
where we had not a creature to look to; mother took on won- 
derfully ; she was always praying and fretting about it ; and 
then, at the last, they turned the right way for us to stay. So 
I have never forgot that saying. I take it to be from the Bible, 
and that it’s a certain thing, if the Lord holds him that has 
the biggest power, he holds them too that have the less ; and so 
may be the landlord won’t liave his way with Willy after all ! ” 

“ That’s right, Jem ; I shall think so too. How glad I am I 
met you ! Good night ! ” and Herbert gave him a hearty shake 
of the hand — to which gratitude, hope, and affection all lent 
their force, and springing again on swift-footed Araby, was sood 
at the door of his home. The shade had passed from his brow, 
the weight from his young spirit — the chill of the cold-hearted 
oppressor lost in the sense of Jem’s voice of hope and hand of 


134 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


power — and tlie spirit of the rich boy leaned on the poor loy, 
as the honeysuckle depends on some stem of sturdier growth, 
which the God of nature has caused to spring up at its side. 

Meanwhile, Jem went home to his supper ; the frugal meal 
was waiting his return ; a log blazing on the hearth, Mary sit- 
ting close beside it, knitting him a pair of stockings, the worsted 
bought with the money saved by the firewood, which set aside 
the expense of coal ; his mother at work in her large old spec- 
tacles, that fastened by a spring on her nose. They soon sat 
down to supper : Jem was unusually silent. “ What ’s the mat* 
ter of it, boy ?” at last asked his mother ; “ you are not think- 
ing about your supper, I ’m sure.” 

“ Well, no, mother, I suppose I was not,” said Jem, going on 
no less thoughtfully with his meal. After supper, Jem took his 
hat and went out, saying he had not done yet for the night. 

“ He is a working at something !” said his mother ; “ may be 
he will tell us after a bit.” 

Jem walked thoughtfully along, his feet seemed to guide him, 
rather than he them, up to the farm. He looked at his folded 
sheep ; but it was plain his thoughts were away — for he took 
no notice of the bleat of his favorite lamb, who had heard its 
shepherd’s step, and pressed its white head against the pen that 
shut it in. Jem came round by the back of the farm ; a storm 
was gathering in the evening sky ; Jem looked at it, then anx 
iously around ; he w as standing then in the stack-yard, and 
on the further side of it his eye fell on a large old tarpauling. 
that had been used the evening before to cover over a stack 
only partly removed to the barn ; the remainder had now been 
carried in, and the tarpauling not yet put away. “’Tis the very 
thing !” exclaimed Jem, and as he spoke he hastened to the 
back-door of the farm. 

“You are wanted, Master William, if you please,” said Molly, 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


135 


at the open door of the keeping-room, and William went out to 
the door of the back-kitchen. 

“ Well, Jem, any thing wrong with the sheep ?” asked William. 

“ No, sir ; I wish all was as right with others as ’tis with 
them, and then I had not need be after disturbing you.” 

“ Never mind that ; what ’s the matter now ?” 

“ Why, Master Green’s roof lets all the wet through upon him, 
and there ’s a terrible storm now coming up, and I don’t seem 
as if I could rest if he is to be rained upon all night long.” 

“ Well, but what can be done ?” asked William ; “ there ’s no 
time and no light to be mending it to-night.” 

“ No, it ’s not mending will do it, it ’s past all that ; th6 more 
shame to them that have suffered it.” 

“ But what ’s to be done, then ? You can’t make a new roofj 
I suppose — and to-night into the bargain !” 

“ Why, that ’s just what I was thinking if I could, for as I came 
down by the barn, I saw the old tarpauling lying there ; now 
the old roof is no bigness but what that would cover it, and I ’ll 
be bound not a drop would get through, if it rains ever so.” 

“ Well, to be sure, that is a new roof after a fashion !” replied 
William ; “ and if the old tarpauling was mine, you should have 
it in a minute ; I am only afraid it will go against father to 
.end ! But you wait about, and I will hear what he says.” 

Away turned Jem to stand and look at things without seeing 
them, and back went William to the keeping-room. His father 
was resting in his chair by the fire, and his mother was busy at 
her needle ; William stood a minute at the window looking out 
at the gathering cloud, then walking up to the fire, he said, 
There ’s a terrible storm coming up to-night !” 

“ It ’s a good thing it held fine to clear in the stack,” observed 
farmer Smith. 

u Yes, it was a good thing for the wheat,” replied William ; 


136 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ but it will not be a good tiling for them that have not a dry 
roof over them to-night, by what I can see 1” 

“ Who do you mean ?” asked farmer Smith, looking up. 

“ Why, old Willy Green,” replied William ; “ I find he might 
as well lie in our fields, and better under one of our hedges, foi 
all the shelter he gets from that moldy roof of his !” 

“ There ’s the more to answer for by them that suffer it !” ob- 
served farmer Smith. 

“ Well, father, that ’s just what I was thinking ; I don’t see 
how we can suffer him to lie so !” 

“ ’Tis his landlord, not us !” said farmer Smith ; “ what can we 
do ? — Make a new roof for every hard-hearted man that won’t 
keep his own tenants dry ? — that ’s not my idea of charity !” 

“ No, father, but there ’s that old tarpauling lying down in the 
stack-yard, if we were to draw that over the roof, he would lie 
as dry as we do.” 

“ And I should like to know what we are to do without it ?” 

“ Why, you know, father, we have housed the last stack to-day ; 
we are sure not to want it before harvest : we have others, and 
better too, for the wagons.” 

“ Well, I can’t say I take to it,” said farmer Smith ; “ I am al- 
ways ready to give a trifle, but if you once take up with lending, 
you never know what ’s your own !” 

Impatience had long been gathering in Mrs. Smith’s face, and 
at these last words she broke silence, “ Yes, Mr. Smith, that ’s all 
the difference ! you are always for giving, giving, giving, till no 
one knows the end of it ! I say, let them earn an honest penny 
that may do them some good, instead of all your givings, or 
lend them a bit if they be hard pressed, and let them work it 
out; but no, you will always be giving, and taking out the 
little spirit that is in them ; and now, when an old tarpauling 
lies down in the yard, you won’t let the boy roof over the best 



p. 136. 

















MINISTERING CHILDREN 


13? 


man in the parish, and the oldest too, because you will stand out 
against lending ! it ’s too much for me, Mr. Smith, I declare !” 

“ Well, I suppose you are right,” replied farmer Smith, in a 
grave low tone ; “ I won’t stand against it, boy.” William was 
sorry for his mother’s rough words, but he could not say any 
thing, so he hastened off to Jem, who was watching for the* 
first sound of the latch of the back kitchen door, and off 1 set 
William and Jem, hastening off together with the tarpauling 
between them ; they laid it down at old Willy’s door till they 
returned, each with a thatcher’s ladder, and then by climbing 
and scrambling, and stretching and pulling, the old roof was 
covered over, the covering made fast by the strings at its cor- 
ners — and now the storm might come, old Willy would sleep 
dry beneath it. 

Herbert was leaning back on a sofa in the drawing-room, 
while his sister played upon her harp ; a book was in his hand, 
but he was not reading, his thoughts were with old Willy ; a 
servant entered and asked of Herbert, “ Can you be spoken with 
to-night, sir ?” 

Herbert sprang up and went out; Jem stood in the hall. “I 
beg pardon, sir,” said Jem, “ I thought maybe you would like to 
know we have roofed it in as dry as dust !” 

“Has Mr. Sturgeon been there, then ?” said Herbert. 

“No, sir, to my thinking he is best away ; there are some that 
seem to have no good to bring with them when they do come ' 
but Master William has roofed it all over with an old tarpauling 
from the farm. Daddy’s as pleased as any thing ; he says he shall 
be lying awake to feel the comfort of it 1” 

“ How came you to think of that ?” asked Herbert, in delighted 
surprise at the work already done. 

« Well, sir, I saw the old tarpauling lie, and then the thought 
came to me, but Master William it was that gained it.” 


138 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Herbert weLt back with bis brightest smile, “ O Mary, it ’s 
done, it ’s done !” 

“ What is done ?” asked Miss Clifford. 

“ Why, old Willy’s roof all covered over as dry as possible ! 
Jem and young Smith have covered it over with an old tar- 
pauling !” His sister smiled and said, “ Then we have seen that 
the end is good !” And with Herbert still leaning at her side, 
she sang to her harp a psalm of thanksgiving. 

u Papa,” said Herbert, after a while, “ I don’t see that money 
is of much use in charity, at least I don’t find it so !” 

“ Wait till the call for it comes, my boy, as sooner or later it 
is sure to come, and then give it freely. The mistake is, when 
we think money can do everything ! it has its distinct work like 
other creatures of God, and when we apply it amiss we do harm 
with it instead of good.” 

That night as farmer Smith read in his mother’s Bible, the 
words met his eye, “ Do good, and lend, hoping for nothing 
again ; and your reward shall be great, and ye shall be the 
children of the Highest : for He is kind to the unthankful and 
the evil.” Luke vi. 35. And the peaceful sense of its being a Di- 
vine command he had obeyed, came down into farmer Smith’s 
heart, and the oil and wine of the living Word poured into and 
healed the wound rough words had left. From that day, far- 
mer Smith was as willing to lend as to give, when his judg- 
ment approved of the case. 

Sweet was the slumber of the ministering boys that night — 
within the Hall, the farm-house, and the cottage ; and sweet the 
link between them ! And pleasant thoughts smoothed the old 
man’s pillow ; as, dry and warm through the youthful love of 
earth, he turned to rest beneath the shadow of the Eternal, 
turned to the well-spring whence those bright and blessed rills 
of human sympathy had risen and flowed at his aged feet. 


CHAPTER X. 


M Id± mjio outcasts dwell with thee. — Be thou a covert to them from the fhce ol 
the spoiler.” — Isaiah xvi. 4. 

rTlHE spring advanced with silent step and hand unseen, strew- 
ing the earth with beauty. Woods, pastures, lanes, — all 
flower-enameled, tempted the step to linger. The countless 
branches of the trees — through winter black and dreary — now 
wore their rosy hue, while the oily chestnut and the silver birch 
already put forth their buds beneath the clear blue sky. Often 
did Herbert tread the path between his own fair mansion and 
old Willy’s lowly dwelling — the younger and the elder heart 
fast linked in pure affection’s blessed bond. The old tarpauling 
covered the roof ; and Herbert had, with unspeakable satisfac- 
tion, filled up, with his own hands, the hole in the floor — no 
longer needed now. 

“ I wonder,” said Herbert one day to old Willy, as he looked 
over the page of the open Bible from the low stool on which he 
sat, “ I wonder why you are so often reading those words about 
the mansions in heaven, when you know them all by heart ? I 
should be for reading what I did not know.” 

“ Well, master, you are right enough, I dare say, but it seems 
to do me good to get a look at the real words ; it helps an old 
man’s faith ; for when I see them, I say, ‘ There they be !’ and I 
can not doubt them. You see, master, the thought of a mansion 
in heaven for an old sinner like me, and my Lord gone to pre- 
<\re it, and coming back to take me to it — why, it ’s all so won* 


140 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


derful : if 1 could not get a look at the words sometimes, I ’m 
afeard I should be just doubting again — though I pray that the 
good Lord would keep me from that ! But it ’s wonderful to 
come and see them all written there just when I want to be 
building up my poor faith ; for then I know it ’s not man’s word, 
nor the thought of my old heart, but the Word of the Lord that 
endureth for ever !” 

When the black thorn’s thin chilly blossoms had given place 
to the redundant May, scenting the hedges, Miss Clifford was al- 
lowed to take her first drive. Herbert was in high spirits, and 
took his seat on the coach-box by old Jenks — whose silent joy 
at driving his young lady out again, had shown itself in his at- 
titude, as, holding reins and whip in his right hand, he had 
leaned down from the carriage-box to see her safely seated 
within ; then bowing in response to her smile, resumed his up- 
right position ; and once more, after many months, set forth 
with the whole of his master’s family for a drive. 

They had not gone far before the old coachman asked Her- 
bert if he had heard the news about Mr. Sturgeon and old Willy 
Green. 

“ No ; what news ?” asked Herbert, eagerly looking up, all 
impatience, into the old coachman’s deliberate face. 

“ Why, I thought you must have heard it ; it ’s been all the 
talk of the village since yesterday ! They say that Mr. Sturgeon 
has bought that place of Squire Crawford’s for his country- 
house, and they say that he and the builder, in whose hands it 
was, could n’t come to terms, and Mr. Sturgeon would not go 
from his offer, nor the builder from his price, and so Mr. Stur- 
geon threw in that plot of old Willy’s, and by that got the 
place some pounds less, instead of more than he first offered. 
The builder was over yesterday at old Willy’s — no one knew a 
word about it till then !” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


141 


w It can not be true, Jenks ! I do not believe it !” 

u Ab, it ’s too true, for all that !” replied Jenks, shaking hia 
head ; “ and it don’t surprise me, for there ’s something belongs 
to money, that, when once you get the love of it, there ’s no 
saying what you will stop at ! They tell me old Willy never 
spoke so much as a word ; it seemed to turn him to stone to 
find he was sold out in that way.” 

“ But do you think the builder will turn him out ?” 

“ O yes ; he has served him a notice to quit in a month, and 
they say it will all be pulled down in another month. Poor old 
fellow, it will be the finish of him here, and then he will be bet- 
ter off, and out of the way of them that can trouble him now ; 
that ’s my belief !” 

“ Stop, Jenks, and let me get inside. I declare I will tell 
papa this moment !” 

“ No, sir, not for the world,” replied Jenks, driving faster ; 
“ if my young mistress were to hear of it, it would do her more 
harm than a hundred drives could do good !” 

“ Then stop at the pond, Jenks, and I will run across to old 
Willy’s.” 

“•Ah, but then,” replied Jenks, “ I ’ll be bound she ’ll guess 
there ’s something amiss !” 

“ No, I will not say a word about it, but I must and will go ; 
and if you do not stop at the pond, I shall get down without !” 

Jenks knew his young master too well, not to think it better 
to pull up when the pond was reached. Herbert, faithful to his 
engagement, only looked into the carriage, saying cheerfully, 
“ I want to run across to old Willy’s.” And then, without giv- 
ing time for any inquiries, he leaped the stile, bounded over the 
meadow, and was soon out of sight. But a little further, and 
his step grew slower ; for over his young spirit passed the awe of 
a first contact with overwhelming grief. “ How will it be when 


142 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


I get to him ?” thought Herbert. “ I can not comfort him !” A 
shudder passed over that bright young spirit, and the boy looked 
along another path that led to his home, and stood a moment in 
doubt which to take. Then a thought of that ministering angel 
he had seen in his dream watching over old Willy, came back 
to his mind, and he thought he would venture to go and seo 
what the love of God could do for old Willy now. 

The afternoon sunshine of the sweet spring-day was warm and 
bright, but the cottage-door was shut. Herbert knocked and 
waited — no answer came ; so, with a beating heart, he opened 
the door, and looked in. There, at the further side of the room, 
old Willy knelt — his hands clasped on the top of his stick ; he 
had not heard the knock, he did not hear the boy’s gentle step, 
nor know that any one was there, till Herbert, having quietly 
shut to the door and laid his hat on the table, knelt down by 
old Willy’s side, and said in his heart, “ 0 God ! comfort old 
Willy !” The old man turned his pale and tearless face and 
looked some moments in silent wonder on the boy, then slowly 
said, “ Why, I had but then begun to ask the God above to 
send you to the sight of my eyes, before they be too dim to 
have the sight of you any more !” 

“ Then, Willy, you need not pray for that, because I am 
come. I am going to stay and sit with you, and God will com- 
fort you, dear Willy ; I know he will !” 

The old man made no answer ; he seemed like one stunned 
with a sudden blow ; he knelt on with an almost vacant express- 
ion a few moments, then said, “ If you be come, why, then, I 
.must thank the God above who sent you so soon !” Herbert 
waited while Willy gave thanks, and then the old man rose 
slowly and with difficulty, and made his way back to his arm- 
chair. Herbert took the low stool and sat down by his side, 
but knew not what to say. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


143 


After a short silence, old Willy looted round and said, “ They 
are going to take the old place from me ; they say I must leave 
it ; but I don’t seem to know one thing from another, nor what 
will be done, and my sight is turned dim, and I can’t see the 
words of the Book, so now I can’t seem to lay hold on any 
thing, only I have a hope that the good Lord above, who came 
down to save me, will keep hold of me still — is not that right ?” 

“Yes, Willy, quite right. Once, do you know, Willy, it 
looked quite dark to me; I could not see a way out of my 
trouble any how, and then I prayed, and then I did see a 
way.” 

“ Yes, sure enough,” replied old Willy, “ prayer will show the 
way any day ! don’t I see the way — and is n’t it just my Sa- 
viour ? Sure enough He says, ‘ I am the way,’ and now it 
comes to me, how she I call my blessed angel came to me 
one day, and read me a rare beautiful story about the dove 
flying back to the ark, because there was no rest in all the 
world for the sole of his foot ! I have a bit of a mark tucked 
in against it, for I have looked on it times and often since 
then, but my eyes don’t seem as if they could get hold of the 
words to-day.” 

“ Shall I read it to you, Willy ?” asked Herbert. 

“ Ah, do, master, if you will be so good, it will come back to 
me then !” 

Old Willy clasped his hands upon his stick, and listened 
while Herbert read the eighth chapter of the book of Genesis, 
where the mark was tucked in. He listened to the boy’s clear 
voice breathing the living Word. Well might the old man feel 
like the desolate bird on the wide waste of the unstable waters ! 
But at the words that told of the dove’s return and shelter in 
the ark, his stricken heart revived, he raised to Heaven his own 
bright smile, and when the chapter was ended, he said at once. 


144 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Ah, I mind it all now ; it all comes back to me, how she rea^ 
it just like that, and then she said to me, ‘ Willy, there ’s no 
rest but in our Saviour ; we must be like the dove and fly to 
Him, and He will put out His hand and take us in !’ I mind 
it now how earnest she said it, and sure enough I have never 
seen the ring-dove cross the sky at evening, but I have thought 
of that, and prayed in my heart a prayer that I might get to 
my Saviour, and that He would be pleased to reach out His 
hand and take me in. And now I see it plain — how I am just 
like the poor lost bird — there ’s no rest left on this side the gravt 
for the soles of my old feet ; so I must only be looking after my 
Saviour, and then, when it pleases Him, why, He will reach 
forth His hand and take me in !” 

Herbert left the old man in the light of the faith his aid 
had helped to rekindle. But his heavy tidings spread sadness 
in his home, and left a flush of deeper crimson on his sister’s 
cheek. 

“ Can you think of nothing, Mary, that can be done for old 
Willy ?” asked Herbert, as he wished her good night. 

“I can think only of One, dearest Herbert; I know that 
nothing is impossible with God, and that He loves old Willy 
better than we do !” 

While Herbert was in his room that evening, the thought 
crossed his mind that he had not told old Willy of his sister’s 
A rive ; it must surely comfort him, he thought, to hear she had 
been out, and might soon call on him. He treasured up this 
piece of good tidings as the only earthly comfort he could 
find, and making a desperate effort the next morning, he fixed 
his attention on his lessons, with as few thoughts of old Willy 
as possible ; and having succeeded in accomplishing his tasks to 
his tutor’s satisfaction, he set off, as soon as he was free again, 
for old Willv’s cottage. He found the old man sitting calnilv 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


145 


in his chair, his Bible open on the table ; but he was not read- 
ing. 

“ O, Willy, only think, I did not tell you yesterday, my sisoer 
has been out for a drive, and she will soon come and see you !” 

At these words the old man burst into tears. 

“ Why, Willy ! I thought that would make you glad ?” 

But the old man only wept on ; the frozen fountain of his tears 
had melted at this touch, and the pent-up torrent flowed — he 
wept and sobbed till Herbert was terrified. 

“ Willy, why do you cry so ? Is it because they are going to 
turn you out of your home ?” 

“ O, master,” said old Willy, at last, “ ’t is a great sin to fret 
against the will of God, but it came upon me so sudden ! ’Tis 
the very thing I have been thinking upon so long and praying 
for day and night — tc se^ her blessed feet come in, and hear her 
tongue again, and now ’t is come — but not for me !” 

“ Yes, it will be for you, Willy !” 

“ No, master, no, they are going to take all my quiet from me, 
and an old man like me that ’s lived so long a time alone — why, 
if other folk were by, I should not so much as know the words 
she said ; it ’s no more use for me ! 0, 1 wish I might go to my 
grave before they take my quiet from me ! I shall never know 
the words I read or hear when other folk come crowding by, and 
then, may be, I shall forget it all again. O, if I might but go, 
now while I have it in my heart, before I have clean lost it all !” 

Herbert stood in a child’s despair ; his cheek was pale and his 
heart faint ; he knew not what to say, but he thought perhaps 
God’s Word might still have power to comfort. He looked 
down anxiously upon the open page ; it was the well-worn leaf 
that told of the mansions in Heaven. “ That will do,” thought 
Herbert, if any ihing will !” So, looking up, he said, “ Willy, 
you listen to me, I am going to read !” Then with a s.ow, dis- 

1 


146 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


tinct utterance, lie read, “ Let not your heart be troubled ; ye 
believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are 
many mansions ; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go 
to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for 
you, I will come again and receive you unto myself ; that where 
I am, there ye may be also.” And as the boy read — the joyful 
Bound woke up the old man’s smile again — twice over Herbert 
read the life-giving assurance, and then old Willy said, “ ’T is all 
there, then ! just as I used to see it ! I have been trying all day, 
and could not get a sight of it, and I thought it was all going 
from me, but now I can find it ’s all there for me still, and sure 
enough I must be getting ready for Him that ’s preparing a 
home for me above, and not a fretting for this !” And the 
light and love of Heaven drank up the tears of earth, and Her- 
bert saw the old man’s smile still beaming on his face when he 
looked back at him from the cottage door, as he left for his home. 

But the sense of the old man’s sorrow had sunk into the heart 
of the child, and he walked slowly homeward. At last a 
thought sprang up in his mind, then a resolve, and with the re- 
solve his step grew quicker and more decided than childhood’s 
is wont to be. On his return home he went at once to his father. 

“ Papa, I want to speak to you ; I can not be happy without 
doing something to keep old Willy’s quiet for him. Papa, I 
think he will soon die if he is taken into a heap of people : he 
says he can not understand what he reads or hears when he is 
not alone, and all his comfort comes from his Bible — he says he 
shall lose it all, papa, when he loses his quiet ; and he wished 
he might die now while he had it still in his heart !” 

“ The poor old man’s trouble is great,” replied Mr. Clifford 
“ and I don’t wonder that he is overwhelmed at the thought of 
the change ; but the same Holy Spirit who puts good things 
into our hearts when we are alone, is able to do it no less in the 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


141 


midst of a crowd ; and even if we did lose the recollection of 
the holy words we love more than any thing, cur God and Sa- 
viour would not the less remember us.” 

“ But old Willy wont know that, papa ; if I tell him, he will 
forget it again, and then all his comfort will be gone ! and, papa, 
shall I tell you what I have been thinking V' 

“ Well, what, my boy V r 

“ Why, there are some verses in the Gospel of St. John that 
old Willy is always thinking about, only he could not remember 
them to-day till I read them to him, about our Saviour being 
gone to prepare a place for him in Heaven, and coming back to 
take him to it : and I have been thinking, papa, that when our 
Saviour comes back for old Willy, if He finds we have let 
him be taken away where all his comfort will be gone, He will 
not be pleased with us ?” Herbert’s father remained silent. Her- 
bert waited a minute, and then went on, “ You see, papa, it says 
in the Epistle of St. James, that if poor people be destitute, and 
we speak well to them, but don’t give them what is needful — it 
says, ‘ What doth it profit ?’ ” 

“ How do you mean, that we could give old Willy what is 
needful to his comfort now ?” asked Mr. Clifford. 

“ Because, papa, it is to lose all his quiet, and his reading, and 
his thoughts, that makes old Willy most unhappy ; and you 
know, papa, what a great deal of land we have ; why there is all 
this great park ! And if I might have just One little corner of 
it — any where, or of some field — just any place, then I could 
build a little house on it ; one room would do for old Willy ; 
and I have two sovereigns and half-a-crown, and some shillings 
besides ! Do you think you could let me have a little piece of 
land, papa ?” 

“ How much do you suppose it would cost to build this little 
cottage you talk of?” asked Mr. Clifford. 


148 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ I don’t know, papa, perhaps a great deal! I could help 
make it, I know I could ; and I would sell Ruby to build it, 
and do without a groom — Jenks would see to Araby’s being 
looked after. I would part with Araby sooner than have old 
Willy die in that way ! Jenks could be sure to get him a good 
master” — ^nd the tears of mingling feelings gathered in Her- 
bert’s eyes — “ would not that do, papa ?” 

“ Yes, indeed it would, my boy, less than that, I hope.” 

“ O then, papa, do you think you will let me build it ?” 

“ I will certainly think it over, and try to decide on what may 
seem best. I do not refuse your petition — God forbid I should ; 
but I must take a little time to consider what can best be done.” 

And so the weight of despair was lifted at once from the 
child’s young heart, and his buoyant spirits rose again with the 
chastened brightness only gathered by those who tread the path 
of sympathy and love. And now he went day by day with 
cheerful step to see old Willy ; he had learned how to refresh 
the weary soul, and replenish the sorrowful soul — even from the 
well of the Living Word ; and now he would open the Book at 
some one of the many marks tucked in, and the attempt never 
failed to brighten the old man’s eyes and lips with the smile of 
joy and peace in believing. Meanwhile old Willy, relieved by 
the tears he had shed at thoughts of his lady’s visit, began to 
recover more use of his aged senses, and could manage to make 
out all the most familiar passages of Holy Scripture, and he 
bowed in meek submission to whatever might befall, while he 
tried to set his affections more entirely on things above, and not 
on things on the earth. 

“ Herbert, I want you,” said Mr. Clifford, one morning not 
many days after the conversation about the cottage. Herbert 
ran from the lawn to his father’s study. 

“ There, I have considered yw request, and I now give you 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


149 


the title deeds, by which I make you sole possessor of a piece 
of land suitable to your purpose ; there is an old cottage upon 
it, and I think you will find it better worth while to repair than 
build ; and perhaps with a little of your father’s help, the ponies 
may not have to go !” 

“ 0, papa ! have you done it, then ?” asked Herbert, taking 
the parchment, and looking eagerly upon it. “ What does it 
mean, papa ? I can not understand it : it says, ‘ Roodes’ Plot !’ 
I thought Roodes’ Plot was where old Willy lives now ?” 

“ So it is,” replied Mr. Clifford, “ will not that do as well as 
any other ?” 

“ Have you bought old Willy’s house for me, papa ?” 

“ Yes, of the builder, for you, with all that belongs to it, ex- 
cept old Willy, who is not to be bought or sold — but he*is to 
be kept, I suppose, if you wish to detain him, as your tenant !” 

The cheek of the ministering boy turned pale with emotion, 
he threw his arms round his father’s neck, he did not speak, he 
did not weep, the clinging clasp of those young arms alone ex- 
pressed that moment’s unutterable joy. At length he said, 
“ Papa, did it cost you a great deal !” 

“ Not so much as I have spent, many times over, on my own 
pleasure ; not so much as the quiet is worth to old Willy ; and 
not so much as I would gladly consecrate in the service of that 
Saviour, who, I trust, is preparing a home for me and mine in 
Heaven, and who has said, ‘ Inasmuch as ye have done it unto 
one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto 
me.’ ” 

Herbert left his father’s side, but O ! how strong the bond of 
love and reverence with which his father’s act had bound him I 
His father had met him in his heart’s first gushing sympathy 
with sorrow, met him and filled his hand with a gift, the price- 
less wort! of which th< child was prepared to estimate : the 


150 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


occasion had arisen, and he had seen his parent cany out to the 
full that parent’s own expressed principle — money at length 
had been needed, and it had been freely poured forth. Such 
moments as those then passed through by the boy have almost 
a creative power to enlarge the soul and ennoble the character. 

“ 0 ! mamma, O ! Mary,” exclaimed Herbert, running into the 
drawing-room, “ old Willy’s house is mine ; papa has bought it 
for me, for my very own, and I shall be his landlord ! I can ’t 
stop a minute till I have told him.” And off bounded the boy 
— never foot bore tidings more swiftly ; no pause was made till, 
breathless and panting, he stopped at old Willy’s door. It was 
no time to delay for a knock of inquiry ; he burst in at once. 
“ 0 Willy ! Willy ! you will never have to leave your home ; 
papa has bought it all for me, and I shall be your landlord, and 
make you so comfortable ! Won’t you be happy now?” 

Old Willy was in the act of crossing the uneven floor of his 
room when Herbert burst in with the tidings of joy, and now 
he stood fixed to the spot, where Herbert first arrested his at- 
tention, and looking up with a bewildered expression, replied 
only, “ Sir !” 

“ Can not you understand me, Willy ?” asked Herbert, and 
then with slow utterance, he shouted, “ Papa has bought your 
house and given it to me, and I shall never let you leave it all 
your life, but I shall be your landlord, and make you so com- 
fortable ! Can not you understand me now ?” 

“ Ah, master, I be afeared it ’s but a dream after all, and I ’ll 
be a waking soon, and then it will be gone !” 

“ No Willy, you are not asleep, you know me ? look here, 
* ’s I, Willy, I have run so hard to tell you ! look, I will shake 
unds with you. Don’t you see it ’s all true ?” 

“ What, then, am I to stay in the old place after all ?” 

“ Yes, Willy, and I am to be your landlord, and I shall make 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


151 


you so comfortable, and you shall not pay me anj rent, and 
then you can have plenty of food ! Papa will not mil d, I know 
— though he is always thinking of what will be just to others, 
but every body knows you have paid good rent for a bad house, 
and so you shall have it all back in a good house and no rent. 
Won’t you be happy now, Willy ? 0 ! I hope you will live a 

very long time, that I may take care of you !” 

“ Praise the Lord !” exclaimed old Willy, as he lifted his 
hand and eyes to heaven. “ Who could have thought of this ?” 
And then, making his way to his chair, he added, “ Sure, ’tis 
He that ’s preparing a place for me in heaven, has let down a 
drop of His love into His young child's heart, to keep me a 
place on earth. Who could have thought it ?” 

Herbert ran back to be in time for his tutor. And wnen old 
Willy had mused a little, and offered up his fervent thanksgiv- 
ing, he took his stick and went round his garden, and looked 
again on every aged tree and young green plant — on which his 
eyes had never rested since the hour in which he heard that he 
must leave them. 

How bright the summer work, how sweet the labor that 
opened on young Herbert now ! How dear was every inch of 
this his landed possession ! — Yet was old Willy always the first 
thought in all. And now workmen were summoned ; brick- 
layers’ men began with walls and floor. All had to be so man- 
aged, in the warm summer-time, so that old Willy should not 
have to sleep away a single night. The walls were of brick 
and still firm, white-washing and a little repair would do for 
them ; but the floor was, as Herbert said, “ about as bad as a 
floor could be.” It was all laid fresh with the smoothest bricks, 
and Herbert, under the bricklayer’s directions, must needs lay 
the four bricks himself under old Willy’s feet beside the fire. 
Then came the thatching, and piles of the brightest and firmest 


152 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


straws were laid beside the cottage walls ; and tbe thatcners 
came ; and the villagers stopped as they passed, with a lingering 
look of surprise and pleasure, and bowed with a kindling smile 
to the young Squire ; and the village-children gathered in a 
group outside — to see the old house done up at last ! and Jem, 
when his sheep were folded, thought not of supper-time ; but, 
kneeling beside the cottage, he laid the wet straws side by side, 
ready for the thatcher’s hand ; and Herbert must needs climb 
the ladder, and stuff in one handful, and smooth it down, and 
fix in the twig — to help at last to roof old Willy over warm ! 
and when Jem was forced to be off the next summer day, and 
the work still in hand, young Smith took his place ; while old 
Willy sat calmly within — one while lost in his Book, reading 
again of the dove, and thinking how even he had an ark found 
him on earth ; then on to the mansions in heaven, where his 
heart had so long had its home ; and then, falling gently asleep, 
he would rest and dream of the faces and tones of love that met 
his waking senses. And Herbert would call and say, “ Only see 
how nice it looks, Willy !” And the old man would answer, 
“ ’Tis wholly a wonder to see the old place, and I to stand in it 
after all !” And once he added,. “ To my thinking, ’tis making 
wholly fit for a king !” And Herbert remembered the words 
that tell how all such as old Willy are “ kings unto God,” and 
the thought blended its hallowing awe with the eagerness of a 
child’s interest and feeling. 

At last the house was finished, and Herbert stood beside old 
Willy, fmd watched the tarpauling out of sight — carried back 
by faithful Jem, with old Willy’s duty, and Herbert’s thanks, to 
Farmer Smith ; its friendly shelter being no longer needed now, 
for it was vain for rain-drop or blast of wind ever to try again 
to penetrate the roof that covered old Willy. Then Snowflake 
stopped at the stile, and Herbert led his sister up the narrow 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


153 


path, and old Willy received them both. Who shall tell the joy 
within those cottage walls — the old man, on whose face the teai 
and smile were meeting ; the youthful lady, in whose eyes the 
light of Heaven already beamed, by whom the old man had 
been led to seek and find a home above ; and the bright boy, 
whose heart and life had lent their aid to preserve and enrich 
with comfort a home on earth, where the old man might enjoj 
rest and peace, with all his need supplied ! 

And now came the garden, every foot of which Herbert re 
solved should be turned to account ; so he set to work diligent- 
ly in the study of gardening books ; and was often seen deep in 
discourse with Dix, one of the under-gardeners at the Hall, who 
took a particular interest in assisting the young Squire. Hap- 
pily, Herbert’s holidays began early in the summer, before the 
heat of the season, that he might with more freedom enjoy ex- 
ercise ; therefore, he had leisure now when he most needed it 
for the improvement of his little estate. The evening saw him 
planning with Dix, and the early morning plying his spade, in- 
haling the air’s first freshness and the scent of the newly-turned 
earth. 

“ If you take my advice, sir,” said Dix, “ you will clear out 
every one of those old trees ; they are all past bearing, and stand 
for nothing but to cumber up the ground.” 

“ No, Dix, you do not understand ; there is not a tree old 
Willy did not plant, or his father before him ; I would not 
have one of them touched ; why, they are all like friends to old 
Willy !” 

“ Well, sir, that ’s reason enough,” replied Dix ; “ there are 
two things to be thought of sometimes, I believe, when one is 
apt to set to work upon one.” 

Herbert was hasting through the Park to his early labor, 
the second morning of his work in old Willy’s garden, when at 


154 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


the gate he found the gamekeeper’s children. ** If you please, 
sir,” said the eldest, “ father thought may be you could set us to 
work ; we have got our spade and hoe, and Ben can pick 
stones.” So on went Herbert with his willing helpers, and the 
birds sang forth their morning carol over the boys’ young heads, 
bowed low in their service of love. 

“ I guess, by what I see,” observed Farmer Smith to his son 
William, as they drove home one afternoon from market, “ I 
guess, by what I see, that our young Squire will be likely to 
understand how to keep dry roofs over his tenants !” 

“ Ah, and warm hearts within them, too,” replied William ; 
“ I will answer for that.” 

So passed old Willy’s trouble, like a summer-evening storm, 
after which his setting sun shone out in clearer brightness than 
before. 


CHAPTER XI. 


Tho law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul The statutes of the Lord are 
right, rejoicing the heart. More to be desired are they than gold, yea than 
much fine gold. Sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb.” — Psalm xix. 
7 , 8 , 10 . 

rnilERE came a bright morning in June, when the farm was al 1 
- L astir with even more than usual life. The dewy mist “ that 
tarrieth not for man, nor waiteth for the sons of men,” was lav- 
ing every leaf and flower, and nourishing the ripening corn — 
first of all creation in the day’s work of blessing, it hung be- 
tween earth and sky, preparing every herb and tree to meet 
uninjured the sun’s noontide ray, from which the vegetable 
world can seek no shelter ; soft and cool, it bathed all nature, 
even as when it rose in Eden, obedient to its Maker’s will, to 
water the sinless Paradise that God had made for man. The 
sun had not long risen, nor the birds long begun their morning 
song to greet it ; but Mrs. Smith was down ; she had opened 
the windows, flung back the doors, and seemed intent on raising 
an early commotion, in order to the earlier attainment of after 
order and repose. Ah ! the child was expected from school 
that day, and the mother would do more to welcome her in act 
baforehand, than in word when she came. And the boys were 
out early, kneeling on the dewy grass-plot beside the gosset- 
/amb, tying a bit of blue ribbon round its neck that had been 
treasured up for the occasion. And William came in to break- 
fast, with his hand full of the wood’s wild-flowers, all wet with 


156 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


pearly dew ; and he stuck them up in a glass, all crowded and 
pressed together, their delicate beauty half hidden in confusion ; 
but their witness none the less clear — their silent witness to a 
brother’s thoughtful love. The day wore on, and Mrs. Smith 
had put on her afternoon gown, and all the house was in after- 
noon order, and Molly had put on the kettle, and Mrs. Smith 
made a plum-cake, the last time of baking, for tea that day 
and now she looked sometimes from window and sometimes 
from door, along the distant road by which William in the gig 
would bring the child home from her school. 

“ Just you listen,” said Mrs. Smith, “ I am sure I hear them !” 
and Mr. Smith stepped out at the front-door, and Molly went 
round to the back, and the yard-boy, who saw her watching, 
shaded his eyes and looked along the road. Yes, there they 
came ! and the boys ran to meet them ; and when the horse 
stopped at the garden-gate, Rose sprang from the gig into her 
father’s arms, then ran on to her mother, and Molly stood smil- 
ing in full sight, and the yard-boy led off the horse to the 
stable, looking back as he went. And glad was that evening 
meal, for the sunbeam of the home had returned. 

It was the hay-time of the year, and Rose was often in the 
meadows among the haymakers. One day a woman of the 
name of Giles said to another woman working at her side — 

“ My mother-in-law is very bad ; I doubt if she will ever get 
about again.” 

Rose heard the words, and her ready sympathy was called forth 

“ Is your mother-in-law very ill ?” inquired Rose. 

“ It seems mostly weakness,” replied the woman ; “ but she 
can’t do a thing for herself, and I don’t beiieve She ever will 
again.” 

Rose said no more, but she thought of the poor o] 1 woman 
lying weak and helpless, and she wished she could take her 


MINISTER! iff G CHILDREN. 


1 51 


something to comfort her ; she could think of a great many 
things, but she dared not ask her mother, for Mrs. Smith had 
not spoken to any of the old woman’s family for many months. 
The old woman’s name was Giles ; she lived by herself in a cot- 
tage under the shelter of a lonely wood, and her son, with his 
wife and children, lived in a cottage that was under the same 
roof as the old woman’s. There were no other cottages near, 
and the oA woman’s son had been convicted of poaching in 
the wood behind his cottage. Farmer Smith had dismissed 
the man from his employ ; and, if Mrs. Smith had had her way, 
the whole family would have been denied employment also ; 
but farmer Smith refused to send away the wife and children 
for the man’s fault, so they still worked on the farm when 
work could be found them ; but Mrs. Smith refused to take any 
notice of any of the family. Therefore Rose knew it was hope- 
less to ask her mother for any comforts for widow Giles. But 
Rose had in her possession a treasured shilling, given by her 
father in one of his visits to her at school : she had thought of 
a great many things that might be bought with this shilling 
when she went to the town with her father — which she was 
always allowed to do once every holiday-time ; but she had not 
yet decided on which of all these thought-of purchases would 
be best ; and now it occurred to her that she might, with her 
shilling, buy a quarter of a pound of tea for poor widow Giles. 
Rose no sooner thought of this, than she resolved it should be 
her final choice. So she went off in search of William, to 
consult him as to how this quarter of a pound of tea could be 
obtained from the town. William told her that they were 
going to send in the next morning; so Rose intrusted him 
with her shilling ; and by twelve o’clock the next day Rose 
was in possession of the tea from Mr. Mansfield’s shop, done up 
in its double paper, e* white inside, and blue outside. Rose 


158 


MINIS TERINU CHILDREN. 


managed to get it into her pocket, and felt a great deal richer 
now that her shilling was turned into so much comfort for the 
poor old woman. But now Rose wanted to take it herself, and 
she was afraid her mother would not let her go to the cottage ; 
but she remembered what her minister at school had said — 
“ Ask, and it shall be given you.” And she thought it must 
be right to go and see the poor old woman ; and when she had 
asked in. heaven, she got courage then to ask on earth. Those 
who go oftenest to heaven in prayer, are sure to have most 
holy courage on earth. So after dinner little Rose said — 

“ Mother, widow Giles is very ill ; they don’t think she will 
ever get about again.” 

Mrs. Smith only replied, “ I don’t know any thing about those 
Gileses, I am sure ; I only know if I had my way, they would 
never be at work on this farm again !” 

“I thought, mother, I should like to go and ask poor old 
widow Giles how she is ?” 

“ And what would be the use of that ? she won’t be any thing 
the better for your asking how she is ?” 

“ No, mother ; only then she would know we did think about her.” 

“ Think about her !” replied Mrs. Smith ; “ that’s a family that 
don’t deserve thinking about, after all your father’s done for 
them, and the man worked on this farm from a boy, and his 
father before him, and then he must turn against it all, and go 
a-poaching !” 

“ But if widow Giles should die, mother, and we did not speak 
a word to her, she would think you had not forgiven her.” 

“ I don’t know any thing about forgiveness, I am sure,” replied 
Mrs. Smith, “till people show a little sorrow for their ingratitude.” 

“ But, mother, our minister at school says, that it ’s when 
people are forgiven that they are often most sorry.” 

“ Well, child, I never heard such preaching as you seem to 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


16 C 


hear ; I only know ’tis a fine thing to have good schooling to 
help you to understand what it is you do hear ; for my part, I 
have been all my life to church, and I never understood our 
minister’s preaching — not to go on by it in that way.” 

“ I don’t think it ’s schooling, mother, makes me understand. 
Our minister does not preach about what we learn at school ; he 
preaches all out of the Bible, and so plain that any body must 
understand him.” 

“ Well, child, it ’s a fine thing to understand, let it be as it 
will ; that ’s all I have got to say.” 

u May I go then, mother ?” 

“ 0, please yourself ; it makes no difference to me.” 

Little Bose set off, at first gravely and slowly, under the 
chilling shadow of her mother’s darkened heart, but she soon 
felt again the sunshine of heavenly truth and love in which her 
own young spirit lived, and then with quicker step she climbed 
the stiles, passed through the hay-meadows, and along the lane, 
where the sun poured his sultry heat upon her, till she reached 
the shadow of the lonely wood. She stood at the widow’s door 
and knocked — no answer came ; so she knocked again, then a 
feeble, anxious voice said, “ Who is there 1” 

“ It ’s me — it ’s Rose !” said the little girl. 

“ 0 dear, I am so glad !” said the poor old woman ; “ but I ’m 
locked in ; they have got the key in the hay-meadows.” 

“ I will run back and get it !” shouted little Rose ; so back 
she turned, forgetful of the summer’s sun, running fast along 
the high unsheltered lane, back over the stiles and through the 
meadows, to where the women turned the fresh-cut grass. 

“ I can’t get in tc widow Giles ; and she says you have got 
the key,” said Rose to the daughter-in-law. 

“ Yes, I always lock the door, for fear any thing should ter- 
rify her ; she lies so helpless.” 


160 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Could not some one stay with her ?” asked Rose. 

“ No, there is no one to stay, except the children,” replied the 
daughter-in-law, “ and they are a deal more trouble than com- 
fort when one’s well ; and I am sure they would be ten times 

orse to bear in sickness.” 

“ Could you not teach them to be kind ?” asked Rose. 

“ Well, as for that, I don’t know that they are bad disposi- 
tioned ; but children will be children — at least, I have always 
found it so.” 

Then off set little Rose with the great key from the daughter- 
in-law’s pocket, and soon stood again before the helpless old wo* 
man’s door ; she put in the key, turned it round, opened the 
door, and went into the desolate room. No hand of affection 
had been there to leave the trace of its skill around — all looked 
comfortless and dreary. Rose went up to the bed. and said, “ I 
come to ask you how you are ; I did n’t know you were ill till 
yesterday.” 

The poor old woman wept. 

“ I am so sorry you are ill !” said little Rose. 

“ 0, dear young creature, who would have thought of seeing 
you ! They say Mrs. Smith will never so much as look at one 
of us again ; perhaps she does not know you are come ; does 
she, dear ?” 

“ 0 yes ; I asked mother if I might,” replied Rose, “ and look 
here, I have brought you a whole quarter of a pound of tea !” 

“ Bless you, dear. O, if I could but think your family had 
forgiven us ! but they say it ’s no use to look for it ; they say 
your mother never really forgives any body that has once got 
wrong. I am sure if man be so far from forgiveness, I don’t 
know how it will be with us when we come before God, for sure 
He has most right to be angry. I he here thinking of that, 
and it ’s a dead weight on my heart,” — and the poor old woman 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


161 


wept on. The tide of anguish was much for a child to stem ; 
but the infant of days who stands at the feet of Him whoso 
word is Peace, may so receive of Him as by its feeble utterance 
to soothe the storm into a calm. 

“ I am sure God will forgive you if you ask Him,” said little 
Rose ; “ our minister at school preached about the wicked peo- 
ple who crucified our Saviour being forgiven, and made so sorry 
for what they had done, and quite different ; so I know God 
will forgive you, if you ask Him.” 

“ Ah ! dear ; but how can I know it ?” asked the old woman. 

“ I will read it to you out of the Bible,” said little Rose, “ and 
then you will know it ; our minister preached it all out of the 
second chapter of Acts. Have you got a Bible for me to read 
it in ?” 

“ No, dear, I can’t read ; my son has one, but it’s locked up 
in his house.” 

“ Then I will bring my own Bible next time I come ; father 
has bought me such a beautiful Bible, and I always take it to 
church ; so I know all where our minister at school preaches 
from.” 

w Ah ! dear, I wish enough you could read to me, for I lie 
here, and there ’s never a creature to tell me a word of advice 
or comfort. I know I am going, and there ’s no one to tell me 
what to do, or which way to look. 0 ! ’tis a dreadful feeling, 
dear !” 

“ I will come — I will promise to come !” said little Rose ; “ and 
I can say you a whole chapter now, if you like, without the Bi- 
ble. Mercy Jones tells me the chapters Miss Clifford chooses 
for her to learn, and then I learn them, as many of them as I 
can. I can say the whole of the fifty-fifth chapter of Isaiah !” 
Then Rose began : “ Ho every one that thirsteth, come ye to the 
waters, and he that hath no money, come ye, buy and eat ; yea, 


162 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


come buy wine and milk, without money and without price.” 
The old woman’s eye was fixed upon the child, as death drink- 
ing in the balm of life ; and when she reached the words, “ Le* 
the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, 
and let him return unto the Lord, and He will have mercy upon 
him ; and to our God, for He will abundantly pardon,” the old 
woman asked, “ Hoes it say like that in the Bible ?” 

“ Yes, it ’s all just as I say it ; I know it quite perfect,” re- 
plied little Rose. 

“ Then there ’s hope for me !” exclaimed the poor old woman ; 
and, lying back with closed eyelids, she said no more, and the 
child went on. 

11 That ’s all,” said little Rose, when she had ended the chapter, 
“ but I will come to-morrow, if I can, and read you where our 
minister preached about the people who crucified our Saviour.” 

“ 0 do, dear ; words like them are life from the dead ; why, 
it ’s like as if an angel had come to bring me comfort !” 

“ Have you any thing to take ?” asked Rose. 

“ No, dear ; I was ready to faint away before you came, only 
those words so revived me up again ! but I must wait, for there 
is n’t a bit of kindling ; if there had been, I think I must have 
tried to heat a little water to make a drop of tea to sop this 
crust in ; I could not eat it dry, nor touch the cheese, and they 
went off in such a hurry, that was all they had to leave me, 
and the day seems terrible long, when they only come home 
once in the noon-time.” 

Rose looked at the fireplace ; there was a little coal by the 
side, and a match-box over the mantel-piece, but neither stick 
nor straw. 

“ I know what I can do !” exclaimed Rose ; “ there is sure to 
be dry wood enough under the trees to make a fire in no time.” 
So, lifting up her frock, she hastened out, stooping under the shel- 



















































































/ 
































































♦ 


J 




























MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


163 


tering trees heavy with their summer foliage, picking up the 
little branches, sere and dry with sultry heat : when her frock 
was well filled she returned ; then kneeling down, her little 
hands soon kindled up a fire. But now there was no water — 
a minute more and Rose stood on the lowest step cut out in 
the field-side, dipping a pitcher in the pond, then back again 
to the cottage ; she poured just enough water into the tea- 
kettle to make one tea-pot full of tea, then findiug an old fork 
in the cupboard, she toasted the dry piece of bread while the 
water was heating ; then she found a small basin, into which 
she broke up the toast, and sprinkled some brown sugar from 
the cupboard. By this time the water boiled, and Rose, from 
her own quarter-of-a-pound, made a tea-pot of good tea ; then 
filling up the kettle, she hung it again over the fire, and pour- 
ing out the fragrant tea, she took it to the bed-side, while the 
old woman’s look on her was blessing. When Rose saw how 
the dying woman, faint and parched with thirst, received and 
fed on what her hand prepared, could she fail to learn how 
blessed was the power to help and comfort ? She waited till 
the repast was finished, then, when the water boiled again, she 
filled the tea-pot up, and, setting it with the basin on a chair 
close by the bed, where the old woman could reach it, she tied 
on her bonnet, and, locking the door, ran home — down the 
same open lane, over the stiles, and across the hay meadows, 
leaving the key with the daughter-in-law, and reached the 
farm just as preparations for the family tea were beginning — 
calm, and bright, and sweet was that summer evening to the 
ministering child. 

Day after day, when Rose could be spared from her home, 
she crossed the meadows, and trod the lane to the lonely wood, 
with her precious Bible hanging in its little bag upon her arm, 
«he sat by the old woman’s bed and read to her the words 


104 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


which lead the heart to Jesus. 0, happy England ! where the 
youngest and the poorest may as freely as the oldest and 
the richest gather the healing leaves of that Tree of Life — the 
Word of God — where it grows within the reach of all, and 
children may turn from their play and bear its seed of eternal 
life to the dying, and they may receive it and live for ever ! 
And happy those who are found obedient to the injunction, 
“ Freely ye have received, freely give !” 

“ Don’t you like strawberries, child ?” said Mrs. Smith, as 
Rose was gathering peas one morning near the strawberry-bed 
with her mother. 

“ Yes, mother, may I gather some ?” 

“ You may as well have them as the birds, I suppose !” 

“ May I have some every day, mother ?” 

“ Yes, I have no objection.” 

“ How many, mother ? may I have my little basket full every 
day ?” 

“ Yes, I tell you ; why do you ask a dozen questions, when 
one would do ?” 

“ Shall I gather you some, mother ?” 

“ No, thank you ; when I eat strawberries, I like to gather 
them for myself !” 

“ Shall I gather father some of a day ?” 

“ That ’s as he pleases !” replied Mrs. Smith, and Rose went 
silently on with the gathering of peas. 

That day before dinner, Rose ran down the straight garden 
path, and filling her own little basket she set it safe and cool 
under the lilac-tree ; and then gathering a plateful, she brought 
them in and put them away in the pantry till after dinner; 
when her father sat down in his arm-chair before going out to 
his business again, then Rose brought out the plate of straw 
berries and offered them to him. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


165 


u Thank you, my dear,” said her father, “ that ’s the way to 
enjoy strawberries — to have you gather them for me, and be 
able to sit still and eat them ! I have no time to stop after 
them while I am out.” 

When Rose was free to run off for her walk, she hastened 
down the garden path to the lilac-tree, and covering some of its 
green leaves over the fruit, to keep it cool from the afternoon 
sun, she set off, with her Bible on her arm, and her basket in 
her hand, to the cottage of the poor dying woman. 

When widow Giles saw the strawberries, she exclaimed, 
“ Why, if it is n’t the very thing I have longed for more than 
meat or drink ! I thought there seemed nothing so tempting 
as a strawberry ; but if one has a penny to spend on such 
comforts, there is no one going to the town this busy time to 
lay it out for one, so I had no thought to see any.” Mean- 
while, Rose had spread the green leaves on the old woman’s 
sheet, and laid a bright red strawberry on each, and the cool 
fruit was drink, and meat, and reviving medicine to the dying 
woman. 

“ There,” said Rose, “ I will put all these in a plate where you 
can reach them, and the leaves over them, and you may eat 
them all up before I come again, because then I shall bring you 
some more !” 

The scarlet berries were piled up, day after day, by the little 
maiden, with eyes of gladness and hands of careful love , the 
daily transfer of her whole portion involved no self-denial to 
her — she had tasted the “ more blessed to give,” and having 
drunk at that mountain-rill of higher, purer pleasure, it was 
no effort to her not to .return to the stagnant pool of self. In 
her young ministry of love, self was lost sight of, not by the 
attempt to subdue it, but by finding within her reach a far 
higher principle, whose exercise had powei to change the 


166 


MINISTERING CHIIDREN. 


touching aspect of want, and sorrow, and tears — into comfort, 
and joy, and smiles. A child naturally loves sunshine, and is 
impatient of the cloud ; let them early learn their Heaven- 
intrusted power to brighten earth’s gloom with the sunbeam 
of love, to span its dark sky with the rainbow of hope, and 
many a child would turn to its exercise who little dreams of it 
now. And is it not well to lead childhood onward and upward, 
unconscious of effort, wherever possible ? — the call for resolute 
self-denial is sure to come soon and often enough, but every step 
gained unconsciously is vantage ground, leaving the points of 
effort higher, and involving further advance. 

At last the day came for Rose to go to the town with her 
father : the long drive, and to walk about the town with him 
would be very pleasant, but poor widow Giles would want 
her strawberries! So Rose was up and among the straw- 
berries before breakfast-time ; she filled her basket, covered 
it with leaves, and set it under the lilac-tree: then when 
William came in to breakfast, she took his hand and led him 
down the garden-path, and holding back the lilac branches 
showed him the little basket, and asked him if he would 
just take them to poor widow Giles, who would be looking for 
them ? 

“Yes, I will see to that,” said William. So Rose ran to 
breakfast, and then off in high spirits with her father, and Wil- 
liam no sooner saw them started than he hastened back to the 
tree, and carried the little basket at once to widow Giles. 

Rose came home as full of delight as she went out, having a 
great variety of things to tell, which her mother heard with pa- 
tience, and her brothers with sympathizing interest. 

“ Did you take my strawberries ?” whispered Rose, the first 
opportunity, to William. 

“ Yes, that I did, and I was glad enough you sent me, for the 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


167 


poor old woman had fretted herself, thinking I was as hurt with 
them all as mother ! and I am sure I had not stayed away from 
ill-will, and if I had known she worried about it, I would 
have gone in to speak to her any day, but I never gave it a 
thought !” 

“ 0 dear !” said the old woman, clasping her hands, as Rose 
went in the next day, “ I think I can die now ! I little thought 
what a day I was to have yesterday !” 

“ What happened ?” asked Rose. 

“ Why, dear, first in the morning part came Master William. 
It was fortunate enough my daughter-in-law was home next 
door washing, so I was not locked in ; he came in at the door 
just as he used ! 0, dear, I never thought to see him again, 

and I loved him like one of my own, having had so much to do 
in the nursing of him ! He stayed some time, and I saw I was 
all right with him, and then I thought I could rest — for I seemed 
to think there could never be a hope with your mother. Well, 
I was lying here in the afternoon-time, thinking how he came 
in and spoke so pleasant — when who should I see come up but 
your mother herself !” 

“ My mother ?” exclaimed Rose. 

“ Yes, dear, what, didn ’t she tell you ? Yes, she came her- 
self ! I was altogether overcome by the sight of her, and burst 
out a crying, and, to my thinking, she spoke kinder than ever, 
and she brought me a bottle of her own wine. No medicine 
could have done me the good of her kind words ! I have felt 
a wonderful comfort ever since. It seems to me as if Him y ou 
read to me about, had sent me a pardon for this world and the 
next. I had been getting hold of a hope for the next ever 
since that first day you came, but I thought it was all over for 
this, but now I see He that can give the one can give the other 
too. And now that dread I had is wholly gone, and 1 


168 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


don’t seem to see a fear now — looking to Him you read of 
to me !” 

After a few more peaceful days, widow Giles died. They laid 
her body in the village churchyard, and in the evening, when 
all the mourners and the. people were gone, Rose went alone and 
stood by the grave, and she looked up to the calm blue sky, and 
felt as if the blessing of that poor old widow fell down upon her 
from Heaven. So passed away her holidays, and Rose went 
back to her school. 

But one little gill there was who had done with school, who 
had learned her last lesson, and was gone Home for ever — 
Home, not to a house made with hands, which trouble, and sor- 
row, and sickness, and death can enter ; but Home to a House 
aot made with hands, a mansion in the Heavens, where dark- 
ness and evil cannot come, where there is no more crying, or 
sorrow, or pain, or death, but God wipes away all tears, and every 
one is happy for ever. It was not little Mercy who had done 
with school — no, she was never absent from her place there, she 
had many sweet lessons yet to learn, and some hard ones too. 
It was not little Jane — no, her school-days had not yet begun, she 
still learned at her mother’s side, and dropped with patient love 
her weekly penny into her little box to clothe the orphan Mercy. 
It was not poor Patience — no, she had not learned the first and 
best of all Heavenly lessons yet, that God is love : she was to 
learn this lesson, but she had not learned it yet, so she must still 
be kept in this world at school to learn the lessons that can only 
be learned here. Who then was the happy child who had done 
with school for ever, and was sent for Home ? It was little 
Ruth. Heaven’s shining gate often opens, and the holy angels 
come down to fetch little children home to their Heavenly Father 
long before those little children expected to be sent for. Then 
let every child try to please God in all things, as little Ruth did, 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


169 


because no one knows how soon the call may come. The spring 
toad been and the summer followed, but they had brought no 
bloom of life to the cheeks of little Ruth. She was sitting in 
her comfortless home one Saturday afternoon with her Bible on 
her knee, learning her texts of Scripture, when her father, came 
in : something had made him angry, and little Ruth trembled 
at the words he spoke. “ Oh, father,” she gently said, “we must 
not take God’s holy name in vain !” 

“ And why not ?” said her father, turning sharply to the little 
girl, as she sat on her stool near the sleeping infant. 

“ Because, father, the Bible says so.” 

“ And what ’s the Bible to me, I should like to know ?” asked 
her father. 

“ O, it ’s just every thing, if you did but know it, father ; 
it ’s just every thing to me !” 

And little Ruth looked up, her eyes filled with tears, and her 
father-in-law was looking down on her, and the sight of her 
pale sweet face, the Bible open on her knee, and her trembling 
voice declaring it was every thing to her, was too much for the 
hardened man ; the thought broke in upon him, how he had 
left her no other comfort ; and he went out of the house unable 
to look at the child again. He never rested till he found work, 
and then he toiled as if he felt he had a life to save ; but it was 
too late for little Ruth ! she seemed to have done with earth 
from that Saturday evening when she bore her young witness to 
the Word of God, and when the next Saturday came she lay on 
her pillow unable to speak or move ; her father-in-law burned 
home with his earnings, and stooping over her, said, “ I have 
bi ought all my wages, you shall have every thing now !” 

Yes, little Ruth would have every thing now — for in the home 
where blessed children dwell in Heaven, no want can ever come. 
There God our Father, and Jesus our Saviour and Shepherd, 

e 


170 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


and the Holy Spirit dwell : there the holy angels live ; and all 
is love, and joy, and gladness for ever. Miss Wilson had been 
several times to see the little girl, and now she came again, but 
the dying child had done with earth, she did not know her 
friend, though her eyes were open, and she was looking up- 
ward. 

u Sure she sees the angels coming for her !” said her weeping 
mother, “ see how she smiles — O ! what a heavenly smile !” 

But no one knows the blessed sights that God’s departing 
children see ! and with that smile upon her lips, little Ruth 
passed away. Little Ruth, who loved the Saviour, and prayed 
to Him ; who loved God’s Holy Word, and tried to please Him ; 
little Ruth, her mother’s comfort, whom her little sister and 
infant brother loved so much ; the favorite of her school-fel- 
lows ; and one of the best children in the school : little Ruth, 
the friend and teacher of the poor dying child, passed away 
from earth ! Little Ruth was never forgotten by any of her 
friends ; nor by her father-in-law — she was gone far away out 
of his sight, but he could not forget ; he took her Bible and 
tried to follow its words as she had done ; and he took care of 
his two poor little children, and made their home and then 
mother’s happy. 

— “ Seated on the tomb, Faith’s angel 
Says, ‘ To are not there,’ 

Where then are ye ? With the Saviour, 

Blest, for ever blest are ye ; 

’Mid the sinless little children 
Who have heard His ‘ Come to me I’ 

’Yond the shades of Death’s dark valley, 

Now ye lean upon His breast — 

Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary are at rest.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

“Let all your things bo done with charity.”— 1 Coa^xvt 14. 

j)AP.A ” said Herbert one day at dinner, as the year wae 
closing in, “ I have long made up my mind to give Jem 
some valuable present this Christmas, and to-day I have hit on 
the right thing. It will cost £3, but I can manage it, because 
I have had the thought so long in my mind that I have been 
saving up my money for it ; and now I am so delighted to have 
found the very thing ! Can you guess, papa ?” 

“ I am almost afraid to try,” said Mr. Clifford, smiling ; “ for 
sometimes your right thing and mine do not recognize each 
other at first sight, and I may disappoint you.” 

“ Do try, papa, this is not charity, you know ; so there is not 
the same fear ; and you must think it a capital thing, for Jem 
is not the easiest person to find out a right sort of a present 
for ; is he, papa ?” 

“ No, perhaps not,” replied Mr. Clifford, “ because his wants 
do not extend beyond life’s necessaries, and his own honest 
hands provide those.” 

“ Yes, papa, and my present is something to do with life’s 
necessaries — something to do with Jem’s work ! Now, papa, 
can you guess ?” 

“ Something to do with Jem’s work, and to cost £3,” said Mr 
Clifford, in a tone of reflection. “ I confess I am puzzled ; 1 
did not think Jem made use of such costly assistance in his 
simple labor.” 


172 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ No, papa ; it ’s something quite new to Jem ; such a tiling 
as he never had, or thought of having. I am full of the sui- 
prise it will be to him !” 

“ Is it a watch ?” asked Mr. Clifford, doubtfully. 

“ No, not a watch ; I could not get any thing of a watch for 
£3 ; could I, papa ? Besides which, Jem’s watch is in the sky ; 
he always keeps time by the sun, without any trouble of wind- 
ing up !” 

“ Is it some implement of husbandry ?” asked Mr. Clifford. 

“ No, papa, Jem is a shepherd ! only Mr. Smith sometimes 
puts him to other work when he wants him.” 

“ Is it a shepherd’s dog of some superior excellence ?” 

“ No, papa, Jem has hard work to keep his old mother and 
iittle niece, he could not keep a dog ! though to be sure that is 
a good idea.” 

“ Then I confess I must give it up,” said Mr. Clifford. 

“ Are you sure you can not guess, papa ?” 

“ Yes, I give up in despair.” 

“ Well then, papa, I have seen the most perfect collection of 
all sorts of carpenter’s tools in a box for £3 ; every thing you 
could possibly want ! Won’t it be just the present to give to 
one who does every thing for himself?” 

“Is Jem a carpenter, then ?” 

“ No, papa, he is a shepherd ! but he does every thing for him- 
self ; so that there must often be carpenter’s work wanted.” 

“ I think you will certainly make him a little work, in keep- 
ing his tools bright ; for I am afraid his use of them will not 
be likely to do it.” 

“ Then you do not think that it would be a nice present for 
him, papa ?” 

“ No, I can not say I do. I think when you give your friend 
a present, it is a pity to give him a trouble. I have no doubt 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


173 


you would find that Jem is quite as independent of carpenter’s 
tools, as lie is of carpenter’s aid in his mending and making.” 

11 Can you think of any thing then, papa ?” asked Herbert, in 
a tone whose gladness was gone. 

“ Why not give him a good winter great-coat ? I should say 
that would be far better.” 

“ No, papa, I don’t want my first present to Jem to be clothes ! 
I don’t want it to be like charity ! I want him to see I have 
thought about how best to please him.” 

“ And do you think that charity admits no thought of how 
best to please ?” 

“ No, papa, I don’t think that ; only I don’t want my present 
to Jem to look like charity.” 

“ What then do you suppose charity to be ? Let us have 
your explanation of the word.” 

“ O papa, every body knows what charity is ? though I am 
pretty sure nobody knows what a mess they may make of it 
till they try at it, for it ’s ten to one if they hit it right when 
they do try !” 

“ But what do you explain this same charity to mean V 9 

“ Well, papa, one can not always explain what every body 
knows, but of course it ’s doing for the poor !” 

11 Very true, my boy ; only remember, there is no one on 
earth so rich as not to need this heaven-born charity !” 

“ What do you mean, papa 1 vou don’t want charity !” 

“ Yes, dear Herbert, I do ; ana so do you. To be poor in 
money, is but one point of poverty ; just as to be rich in money, 
is but one point of riches.” 

“ What then are you poor in, papa ?” 

“ I am so poor, that there is no one I have any intercourse 
with who may not make me richer.” 

“ What do you mean, papa 2” 


174 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ I mean that my earthly comfort depends more upon that 
spirit of love or charity, in those with whom I am associated, 
than upon any thing else ; and this is true of all. One of the 
chief reasons of the happiness of heaven is, that there every 
thought and feeling, every word and action, is governed by 
charity ! And the nearer you come to the practice of this 
spirit of love on earth, the nearer you come to the spirit of 
heaven.” 

“ But then, papa, if I could think of any thing to please Jem 
more than a coat, I might give it to him, and yet not go against 
charity ?” 

“ Yes, certainly, whatever most proves your thoughtful in- 
terest in others, and care for them, is the best and brightest 
exercise of charity.” 

Soon after this, Herbert was left alone with his mother and 
sister, when he said sorrowfully, “ I declare I feel ready to cry ! 
I never felt so sure before about having hit on the right thing ; 
and now papa thinks it quite wrong ; and papa comes down so 
grave upon one, that the thing never looks the same afterward 
— I don’t care about that box of tools the least now !” 

“ Did old Willy’s cottage not look the same when papa had 
made it yours ?” asked Miss Clifford. 

“ 0, Mary, you know that was the best thing that ever 
happened to me in all my life ! Of course I did not mean 
that.” 

“ Then perhaps you only mean that papa shows you your 
mistakes ?” 

“ I don’t know, I am sure,” replied Heihert ; “ but I often get 
so full of a thing, and it looks as pleasant as possible, and then 
l am off to talk to papa about it, and he makes it look as dull 
as can be. I wonder how it is that I can so seldom think like 
papa beforehand !” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


175 


“ Shall I try and help you to understand ho n it is ?” asked 
Mrs. Clifford. 

“ Yes, mamma, I wish you would.” 

“ You have often been out early these last nine months ; have 
you not observed how different objects looked to you in the 
misty light of the morning, how large some small things seemed, 
and how the dew-drops looked like diamonds in the blight sun- 
beams, and the grass you walked upon sparkled with counties* 
points of brilliant light and color ?” 

“ Yes, mamma, but what of that ?” 

“ That is like your early morning of life, my child, when, for 
want of clearer knowledge, many objects appear to you differ- 
ent to what they really are. But, your father has reached life’s 
afternoon, when the misty light deceives no longer, and the dia- 
mond dew-drops are gone from the earth, and therefore when he 
puts things in the clearer light of his fuller knowledge, they ap- 
pear to you very different.” 

“ Well, mamma, I wish things were always bright ! I am 
sure it is much pleasanter when they are.” 

“ They will be always bright in heaven, my dear boy ; no 
light of fuller knowledge can ever change the forms and hues 
of heaven — except to increase their beauty. The day’s loveli 
est dawn, and your life’s glowing morning, are but to picture to 
you a little of heaven. But there the bloom and the fragrance, 
the glory and the freshness, never pass away. If we could al- 
ways keep earth’s brightness here, we might seek less earnestly 
for that inheritance which can not fade away.” 

“ I know you must be right, mamma, but still it seems sad to 
nave things that looked so pleasant changed.” 

“ Many true things are sad on earth, dear Herbert. He who 
•s Himself the Truth — your Heavenly Counselor was a Man of 
sorrows here on earth ; but, in heaven, Truth wears only hei 


176 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


beautiful garments,’ and will be known by all who dwell there, 
only in her brightness for ever.” 

“ It was Herbert’s Christmas holidays, and the next morning, 
when he went into his sister’s room after breakfast, to read to her, 
he was still feeling his disappointment about the box of tools. 

It is a pity about Jem, is it not, Mary ? I did want to give 
him something that might always please him.” 

“ But why need you give up the hope to do so still ?” asked 
his sister ; “ is a box of tools the end of all useful and pleasant 
things ?” 

“No, but for Jem it is not easy to find any thing really pleas 
ant to give ; now I have given up the tools, I can not think of 
a single thing.” 

“ Shall I tell you what I think would please him more than 
any other present ?” 

“ O yes, do tell me — you always bring back one’s hope even 
when it ’s quite gone — do tell me directly !” 

“ You know how fond Jem is of his dear old mother ; did 
you not hear of his saving up a little money he had for her, to 
buy her a winter gown ?” 

“No.” 

“ He did so, and she was delighted with her son’s present, at» 
you can suppose ; and I have often thought, if the dear old wo- 
man could have one of those bright red cloaks, it would keep 
her warm all her life ; she would look the very picture of com- 
fort in it ; and Jem would hardly know how to be happy 
enough. And you could send for Jem on Christmas eve, and 
let it be his Christmas morning present to his mother.” 

“ That will be the very thing 1” exclaimed Herbert, with ue* 
light as fresh as ever. “ I will run and tell papa 1” 

Mr. Clifford thought that nothing* could be better, and Mrs. 
Clifford approved it as the best thing possible ; so Herbert re 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


177 


turned to his sister, and the rainbow-hues around the gift were 
bright again, as when his own heart first framed the thought — 
bright in truth’s own radiance now. After Herbert had talked 
with his sister a while about the red cloak — where it was to be 
bought, and how it was all to be managed — he sat silent for a 
moment on the side of the sofa where she was lying, and then 
said, “ Did you hear what mamma was saying yesterday about 
my seeing all things in the morning’s misty light ; and papa 
seeing them as they really were ?” 

“ Yes, dear, I heard it all.” 

“ Well, then, I can not make it out ! because you always bring 
the brightness back when it ’s all gone, and if you think differ- 
ently from me, yet you don’t take the brightness away, you 
only put it on something else, and yet papa is sure to say you 
are quite right ?” 

Herbert looked inquiringly at his sister ; the tear started to 
her eyes, but she did not speak. 

“ Dear Mary ! what makes you sad ?” asked Herbert. 

“ Only the thought that perhaps if I answered your question, 
it would make you sad, dear.” 

“ O, no ; do tell me if you can ; I want to know !” 

“ Well, then, in the morning, as mamma said, the dew lies 
thick upon the grass, and leaves, and flowers, and the soft mist 
half conceals many objects ; but the dew and the mist are only 
of earth, and the sun’s fuller rays absorb the dew and the mist, 
and they are gone : and then comes the clear day, when every 
thing appears as it is in itself : and then, dear Herbert, what 
next ?” 

“ The evening comes next,” replied Herbert. 

“ Yes, the setting sun — and then the brightness is all from 
Heaven ! You see the golden sunbeams fall, and they light 
up all they touch; but they do not make any thing appear 


178 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


what it is not ; you see all things truly, only you see them 
gilded hy light from Heaven — a softer, stiller brightness than 
the morning’s dazzling light, a brightness that lasts till the sun 
has set ; and that, dear Herbert, is the brightness in which I 
see all things ; and because it does not mislead, papa agrees 
with it.” 

“ What do you mean, Mary ?” 

u I mean that my sun is setting, and I can not help but see 
iie brightness it casts on all around me.” 

“ But what do you mean by your sun setting, Mary ?” 

“ I mean that I believe I am dying to earth, but rising to God 
and Heaven.” 

“ 0, Mary, you can not mean dying ! you know you were ill 
last winter, and then you got well again — almost well ; did you 
not ? And so you will this time, indeed you will ! God would 
not take away the happiness from every thing, and it would be 
all gone if you were gone !” 

“ If we put our happiness in any thing more than in God, He 
may take it away, dear Herbert, if He loves us, to teach us to 
find it first in Himself.” 

“ I will try to find my happiness still more in God, if you stay 
with us, Mary.” 

“ Perhaps God may teach you to do so, by taking me away !” 

“ 0, no, I could not learn any thing then !” 

“ We do not know what we can learn, or how we can learn 
best, till God teaches us, dear.” 

“ I am sure papa and mamma can not have such a though 
bout you, Mary ; they could never bear it !” 

“ Papa and mamma will try to bear God’s will, whatever it 
may be ; and will not you try also, dear Herbert ?” 

“How do you know that papa and mamma have such a 
thought ?” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


178 


44 Because we often talk about it.” 

“ I never bear them !” 

“ No, they do not like to tell you, for fear of makiig you 
unhappy ; but I wanted you to know, that we might talk to- 
gether of that blessed home to which I am gcmg.” 

“ Do you like to think of going, then ?” 

“ O yes, I love Heaven more than earth, and my God and 
Saviour more than all beside ! I used to be afraid that when I 
was gone, papa and mamma would have no companion to walk 
with them in the way to Heaven, and my poor people no earthly 
comforter ; but you took away these fears, dear Herbert ; or 
rather God took them away by you ; and now, instead of tears 
of sadness, you make me shed tears of joy sometimes.” 

44 But, dear Mary, if you were to stay, I could help you do all 
this. I am sure the doctor can not think you so ill, because he 
has told me so many times that you were better ! If he says 
that he thinks you will get well, will you think so too f” 

Miss Clifford smiled, and asked : “ If you could see the gate of 
our own home before you, could you easily believe any one who 
told you that a long journey still lay between you and it ?” 

“ What do you mean, Mary ?” 

44 I mean that I see the better world, and but a step between 
me and it !” 

“ But you may see it, Mary, if you will not go to it yet ! If 
the doctor says you will get well, will you believe it ?” 

44 He can not say that, dear.” 

“ But if he says he thinks you will, will you try and get well ?” 

“ Yes, I will promise you, whatever the doctor may say, that 
C will do any thing I can that might help my recovery.” 

“I will g^ off directly then and ask him 1” exclaimed Her* 
bert. 

44 No, stop, dear Herbert, do not go !” but the boy was gone. 


180 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Papa, I want to go to the town, if you have no objection ; 1 
shall soon be back.” 

“ No, I have not any objection,” Mr. Clifford replied ; and Her- 
bert was soon on the road. He requested to speak with the 
medical man, who quickly appeared, asking, hastily, whether 
M Miss Clifford were worse ?” 

“ No, I hope she is better,” replied Herbert, “ but I want you 
to tell me whether you do not think she will get well when the 
spring time comes ?” 

“ It is not always easy to speak positively on such subjects/ 
replied the doctor. 

“ But you do think my sister may get well again, as she die 
last summer, do you not ?” 

“ Yes, I do think that, with the greatest care, Miss Clifford 
may recover again as she did last summer.” 

“ Thank you, sir, I could not rest without asking you.” And 
Araby bore his young master swiftly home again. 

“ Dear Mary, I was right ! the doctor does think that with 
the greatest care you may recover again, as you did last sum- 
mer ! Will you not think so too ?” 

“ Yes, I will think that, dear !” 

“ And then, when you have recovered, there is no reason why 
you should be ill again, more than any one else who has been 
ill and recovers !” 

Miss Clifford only smiled, and Herbert did not read the mean- 
ing of that smile. 

Herbert had put away all fear of losing his sister from his 
mind : but the momentary distress of the thought had made him 
cling closer to her than ever. He talked with her still oftener, 
and whatever gave rise to her words they continually ended in 
Heaven — till her young brother learned to feel the betteT 
world a familiar place to him, and a home in which, while still 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


181 


on earth, thought and affection, as well as hope, found their 
true resting-place. He talked with her — and the sweet links 
of hallowed sympathy that bound her to the poor, drew him 
also to them, in the tie of true feeling and warm interest. He 
read to her from the holy Scriptures — and the clear undoubt- 
ing words of one who had learned almost her last lesson of God’s 
unfolded truth, led him on in the understanding of that which 
was the Light of Life to her. 

A few days before Christmas, Herbert was sitting talking 
with old Willy on the stool opposite the old man’s chair, beside 
the blazing hearth, when suddenly his eye fell again on a largo 
hole he had often observed in old Willy’s coat. 

“ I wish, Willy, you had a new coat ; you have worn this old 
thing ever since I knew you, and it is getting quite a rag.” 

“ Ay, master, I can’t count the years I ’ve worn it, and for 
certain it ’s none the better for use. I have a Sunday coat that 
l bought the last harvest I made — and that ’s some years agone 
now — but if I take my Sunday dress for common days, I shall 
never look decent on the Sabbath then.” 

“ What ! have you not had a new coat since you could go 
harvesting, Willy 

u No, master, that was the last time I earned a bit of gold, 
and I ’m never like to earn so much as silver now. No, I have 
stood king of the reapers many a year, and led them on with 
green bough and sickle, but that ’s all over now, and I am think- 
ing of Him that is coming, as it says in my Book, ‘ to gather 
His wheat into the gamer, and to burn up the chaff with un- 
quenchable fire’ — 0 that I may be found a true grain then !” 

Herbert sat silent, pondering on how it might be possible to 
get a new coat for old Willy. The bright red cloak would take 
all his store, and was more important than even old Willy’s 
coat. The old man too seemed musing upon something ; at las* 


J8^ 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


he first broke silence, saying, “ It ’s no time, I say, for me to be 
thinking of finery, when I can never get up money enough, for 
such a place as this is about me. I ’ve tried hard these last 
quarters to make up a little above what I paid him that kept 
it so bad, but I couldn’t live on less, and so it’s just about the 
same as I saved up before ; but it don’t seem the thing to have 
the old place done up like this, and yet pay no more for the 
comfort of it.” 

“ Why, Willy, you are not to pay me any rent ! I told you 
so at first ; don’t you remember ?” 

“ 0, yes, master, I remember how you told me I was to stay 
in the old place ; I can never forget the wonder of that !” 

“And not to pay any rent, Willy!” 

“ Not pay any rent ?” repeated old Willy, in a tone of in- 
quiring astonishment. “Yes, master, I hope I’ll not turn like 
that against such goodness as yours ; I have saved it all up as 
careful as I could !” 

“ Now, Willy,” said Herbert, standing up in despair, “I don’t 
mean to let you pay me any rent ; so all the money you have 
saved up — is yours ! Can you understand that ?” 

“ Yes, master, I can understand, but I can’t see the thing to 
be right for all that !” 

“ Never mind, Willy, it must be right if I say it, because it’s 
my house ; and I want you to be happy in it, and to live a long 
while ! I will tell you what papa says — papa says that to give 
is the birthright of every child of God ! so it is quite right for 
me to give you back your rent. And now, Willy, you can buy 
a new coat with that money you have saved up ! Do you un- 
derstand !” 

“ Yes, master, I understand, and thank you too.” 

Herbert could not help thinking wliat a picture of comfort 
old Willy would look at his fireside, in his pretty cottage, if he 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


188 


had but a nice coat ; so in two days’ time, he called in again to 
see if it was bought. 

“ Well, Willy, have you got a new coat ?” 

“ No, master, I can’t say I have as yet.” 

“But you must make haste, Willy; — you know you have 
money enough now.” 

“ Yes, master, that ’s true that I have, but there is a thought 
come in my mind that hinders me a bit.” 

“ What thought, Willy ?” 

“ Why, my Jem, as I call him, was in here a few evenings 
ago, and he was telling me how he had been over to a meeting 
hoi den some where in these parts, where they told about places 
a longful way off, where they have not so much as a Bible ! and 
I have been thinking how I sit reading here all about those 
mansions in Heaven, and Him that ’s the way to them ; and 
out there, in such places as those he heard speak of, they can’t 
so much as get sight of the Book !” 

“ Well, Willy, that ’s all true ; but what of that ?” 

“ Ah, master, you see I ’m just thinking it ’s a deal of monej 
to spend on a coat for an old man like me, that may never live 
to want it ; so I was thinking to get this patched up a bit, to 
.ook tidy like for me ; and then, maybe, if I could get to them 
just that money you give back to me, why they might get a 
Bible out there, to show them the true way to Heaven !” 

“ O, Willy, not all that you have saved for your rent ! you 
might send enough for one Bible, and have a coat too !” 

“ Well, master, it must be as you please, for sure enough it ’s 
all yours, and not mine ; only I ’m thinking how I live like a 
prince, to what that poor beggar did I read of in my Book ; and 
yet the angels carried him into Heaven : but how those poor 
creatures are ever to get there, that never heard the words of 
the Book to show them Him that ’s the way — it hurt* me to think P 


184 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Deal Willy ! I do believe you are right, and I won’t mind 
about your coat! Papa can send the money for you if you 
like,” said Herbert, rather sorrowfully. But, 0 ! the joy that 
lighted up the old man’s eye, as he poured out the saved up 
contents of his little leathern-bag, sixpences and shillings, and 
saw Herbert bear them off ; and then sat down to his Book with 
thoughts of those who, like himself, would hear and read the 
glad tidings of great joy through the Book that would now be 
sent to show them the way ! 

Mr. Clifford heard the touching tale, and took the old man’s 
offering from the boy ; and Herbert went oh to say, “ Papa, I 
ought to think of those who have no Bibles, as well as old 
Willy, and I could do it without having to give up my coat for 
it ! What could I give, papa ?” 

“ You could give me whatever you like, monthly, or quarterly, 
or yearly,” replied his father. 

“ I should like monthly best, I think, papa ; when I receive 
my money.” So Herbert, led by old Willy, began to stretch 
forth his hand to aid those, who, in countries far away, “ sat in 
darkness and the shadow of death.” 

Then came the Christmas Eve. The cloak, the scarlet cloak 
had arrived, directed for Herbert, and his eyes kindled with joy 
when Mrs. Clifford put it on, wrapping it round her black satin 
dress, which showed all its warm beauty to perfection. 

“ Widow Jones’s son is waiting to see you, sir,” said a servant 
to Herbert, after tea. 

“ Show him into the dining-room,” replied Herbert. “ Now, 
mamma, you must come, and, Mary, you must come !” 

“ I think we had better not,” said Mrs. Clifford. “ Jem will 
have quite enough to encounter in the red cloak without us, you 
can tell us about it afterward.” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


185 


u Perhaps that will be best,” said Herbert, and he went out 
alone : he was gone a long time : at length he returned. 

“ Well, what of the cloak ?” asked Mrs. Clifford. 

“ O, mamma, I am glad you did not come ! I could not even 
tell you all. I am sure I love that good fellow, and I think he 
loves me. I could not get him to believe at first that it was to 
be for his mother, and a present from him ; he said he had 
never thought to see her look like that ! And when he found 
out that he was really to take it away, he said, ‘ I haven’t got 
any words, sir, but ’tis a comfort we will never see the end of !’ 
I don’t believe, Mary, any one but you could have thought of 
it ; it was the very best thing in the world for me to give to 
Jem, and I am sure he thinks so too.” 

On Christmas day, Mr. and Mrs. Clifford always provided 
some presents for their children. These presents were always 
placed on the breakfast-table ; and a large brown paper parcel 
lay, this Christmas morning, beside Herbert’s plate. 

“ O, papa, what a parcel !” said Herbert, as, impatient of all 
delay, he slipped off the string, and unfolded the paper. “ 0 
Willy ! O papa. ! why, it ’s a coat for old Willy — what a beauti- 
ful coat ! why, it ’s the very thing I used to fancy him wearing 
— a blue coat, with brass buttons ; how delightful ! Now he 
will have a coat, after all !” and Herbert turned, with his kiss of 
grateful love to his parents. “ I should not have cared for any 
thing so much as that, papa ; I shall take it myself this afternoon !” 

As Herbert entered the church-yard, at his parent’s side, who 
should he see coming down the snowy path from the other end 
but widow Jones, in her red cloak, with little Mercy at her 
side, and Jem at a short distance, in full view of his mother’s 
bright appearance. The old woman saw her young benefactor, 
and she courtesied so low, that her red cloak rested on the pure 
white snow. Herbert bowed, with his heart-warming smile,* 


186 


MINISTER!!* G CHILDREN. 


and the rich and the poor entered the house of prayer, there to 
kneel before the God and Father of all, who is rich unto all 
who call upon Him. 

When luncheon was over, Herbert set off to old Willy. The 
old man had had his Christmas dinner, of roast beef apd plum- 
pudding, sent from the Hall ; and was seated beside his fire in 
peace, with his “ Book” to talk with him. Herbert was wise, 
and laying the parcel aside, he first made old Willy fully under- 
stand that all his money was gone for those who had no Bibles, 
and that it would buy for them, not one Bible alone, but many 
Bibles ; and when the old man clearly understood, and had 
fully taken in the joy of this blessed thought, then Herbert told 
him that his father had bought a coat on purpose for him. 
The old man rose, and took it with a bow of grateful reverence 
to the elder Squire who had sent, and the younger who had 
brought such clothing for him ! and then he wondered at its 
beauty, and thought it little fitting for such as him to wear, and 
promised never to put on his old coat again, but to wear his 
Sunday dre^s on common days, and his new coat on Sundays. 
And Herbert, quite satisfied, returned to his home. 

Meanwhile, at the farm, William in the gig had brought 
Rose from her school. She had received there the tidings of 
the birth of another brother in her home, and her first eager 
visit was to the cradle of the sleeping infant. Rose became at 
once the infant’s nurse, and full occupation and delight were 
found in this new interest. The day for the christening had 
been put off' till her return, that she might be present on the 
occasion. Farmer Smith had decided on the infant’s name, 
which was to be Timothy ; “ For by what I can make out,” said 
farmer Smith, “ it is him of whom we read in the Bible as hav 
mg taken most to the Scriptures from a child !” so the infant 
boy was baptized by the name of Timothy, which, according to 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


187 


the custom of using short names at the farm, was contracted to 
Tim, and little Tim soon became an object of interest to all 
around him. 

Mercy too kept a merry Christmas in her cottage home ; her 
grandmother’s red cloak was the delight of her eyes ; she had 
also knitted a pair of new stockings for her grandmother, and a 
pair for her uncle Jem, the worsted bought with the money 
saved by her uncle Jem’s hedging and ditching. And the 
young orphan herself was now freshly clad ; she had run about 
with warm feet all the winter, through little Jane’s first effort to 
darn stockings a year before ; and now the last penny had beeD 
paid in, the club-day had come, and widow Jones, laden witl 
the warm clothing, had once more stopped at Mrs. Mansfield’s 
door. Mrs. Jones was had into the parlor, Jane was sent for 
down from the nursery, and Mr. Mansfield was called in from 
the shop ; and blue print with the little white spots upon it, 
warm flannel, and white calico, were displayed by the tall old 
woman in her bright red cloak before the earnest eyes of little 
Jane. As Jane looked on in silent wonder, the full conscious- 
ness — because the full knowledge, was in her mind, that, but 
for her saved-up pennies, those warm garments would not have 
been bought for the orphan Mercy ; it was a feeling to enlarge 
a child’s young heart, and to give added strength to her char- 
acter — resulting from a continued effort with its realized attain- 
ment. And so the little orphan was clothed, warmly and well 
as when her careful parents watched over her infant years. And 
the passer-by through the village lanes might see her, with the 
rosy hue of health upon her cheek, braving the freezing air, 
which had no power to chill her now ; — the passer-by might see 
the happy child, sometimes on her cottage door-step, scattering 
down the crumbs from the frugal meal, while the expectant 
robin, neeping from the thatched eaves, heard her sing — 


188 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Little bird, with bosom red, 

Welcome to my humble shed ! 

Doubt not, little though there be, 

But I’ll cast a crumb to thee I” 

— and then without fear flew down to pick the cm mbs at hei 
feet. Or she might be seen hastening up the hill, just to light 
up dame Clarke’s little fire, which the poor old woman was too 
feeble to manage ; or sitting beside it with her of an evening- 
time awhile, to read to her from the Holy Book — whose words 
the old woman could not read herself : or coming back on her 
grandmother’s washing-day, from her early visit to the poor 
old woman, with the things she had found, that she and her 
grandmother could wash with their own. Thus was Mercy, to 
whom little Jane had ministered, a ministering child herself. 

And now, before we leave that happy Christmas time, we will 
go back and pay one more visit in the town — not to poor little 
Patience ; no, we cannot climb the dark staircase to her cold 
empty home ; some one else must do that — and some one 
was coming who would, but not till that happy Christmas was 
past ; poor Patience must spend that, as she had spent all before 
it — in wretchedness and want ; no time brought her gladness 
as yet ; but the star was soon coming in the dark cloud for poor 
Patience, and she will have comfort enough by-and-by — 
though for all who dwell in this world, the cloud must still 
darken the bright stars sometimes ; but for such as little Ruth, 
who are gone to dwell in heaven, all darkness and trouble is 
passed away for ever ! 

Where then are we going if not to see poor Patience ? You 
are going to look into a shoemaker’s home, and to see what was 
doing there. We must pass Mr. Mansfield’s corner shop, go 
down the short street at the top of which it stands, turn to the 
right, and then again down a narrow street to the left, and there 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


189 


half-way down the street, you will see “ Boot and Shoe maker” 
written up. The worthy shoemaker, who lived in this narrow 
street, was once in a much larger way of business, but his poor 
est days had been his best days, and what he had lost of this 
world’s wealth he had gained a hundred fold in enduring riches 
—'even the love of God, which made Heaven his home. He 
lived with his wife and children in one back room, with a small 
shop in front : but he was so sickly in health and so poor, that 
he could not have kept even that one room, if it had not been 
for his eldest son, who was gone abroad, and who was always 
sending money to his parents at home. The second son lived 
with his parents, and was serving his apprenticeship to a book- 
binder. Little Ephraim, the third son, went to a day-school ; 
Manasseh was a baby in the cradle. Little Ephraim was troubled 
because the baby slept in the cradle instead of joining in family 
prayer ; so when it was over one day he went to the cradle, and 
kneeling down by the side, he put the baby’s hands together, 
saying, as he held them, “ Lord, teach Manasseh to pray !” 
There was also a little girl named Agnes, who went to a day- 
school, and waited on her mother at home. 

It was Christmas-eveinthe shoemaker’s home; for the blessed 
Christmas comes to all, to rich and poor, to young and old, 
telling year after year of the Saviour’s love, to win them to 
seek him while yet he may be found — to call upon him while 
he is near. It was Christmas-eve in the shoemaker’s home, the 
father was out, and the mother, with little Agnes to help, was 
making haste to get all in readiness for Christmas-day. There 
f was no plum-pudding or roast beef preparing for the Christmas 
dinner ; but the Missionary box ! feel its weight, and do not 
think it is heavy with pence only, no, there are sixpences and 
shillings, not few in number — the thank-offerings to God of the 
shoemaker’s family. The children will sit round the table ; 


190 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


each, child will have a little farthing candle to hum, all at once, 
making a bright light, then the box will be opened, and they 
will count up the money that they have gathered for the poor 
heathen, to help in sending good ministers to them, to teach 
them to know that blessed Saviour, whose birth we celebrate oe 
Christmas-day. The mother was busy, getting on with hei 
cleaning up, when she heard a loud knock at the door. “ Run, 
Agnes, and see who is there,” said the mother. The door was 
at the end of a long passage ; presently Agnes came back, and 
her book-binding brother with her, and a large brown paper 
parcel in his hand. 

“ Did you hear that loud knock, mother ?” asked the boy. 

“ Yes, who was it ?” 

“ Why, it was a friend of yours, only he did not wish his 
name mentioned ; he brought a little Christmas present for you 
with his love.” 

“ For me !” said the mother, “ a friend of mine ! Did you 
know him ?” 

“ Yes, mother, and so would you if you had seen him ; but I 
am not going to tell you as he did not wish it, so it ’s no use 
asking me ; and as for Agnes, she saw no one but me, so she 
can’t tell.” 

“ What can it be ?” said the mother, and wiping her hands 
and arms she came up to the round table in the middle of the 
room, where Agnes and Ephraim stood all expectation by their 
elder brother’s side. The string was untied — for the shoe- 
maker’s careful wife would be sorry to cut a knot and waste an 
Inch of string, the paper was unfolded, and five small parcels 
tumbled out. “ O mother !” said Agnes. “ 0 dear ! O dear !” 
said little Ephraim. The first parcel was a quarter of a pound 
of tea ; the next, half a pound of coffee ; the next, a pound of 
sugar ; the next, a pound of currants ; aT d the last, a pound of 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


191 


plums. The mother looked hard at her hook-binding boy — 
“ Now, Bob, if I don’t believe that it’s you, and no one else, has 
been getting all these things for me ?” 

“ Well, mother, I could not stand your having no Christmas 
pudding, and I managed to earn it all at over hours !” 

So, to the children’s delight, and the mother’s pleasure, a 
great Christmas pudding was prepared, and the whole family had 
their Christmas feast of the provision made by the book-bind- 
ing boy. 

And so the Christmas came and went. And some young 
hearts, and some that were no longer young in earthly youth, 
loved still better than before, the “ Holy Child Jesus,” who was 
bom for their sakes, an infant in the stable of Bethlehem. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


Now the eud of the commandment is charity out of a pure heart, and a good oou 
science, and faith unfeigned.”— 1 Tim. i. 5. 

/CHRISTMAS had passed away, New Year’s Day was over and 
^gone, and the cold snowy month of January slowly drawing 
to a close. Rose had returned, for her last half year, to school. 
And poor little Patience had taken her place again in the 
second class, among her companions ; the mistress said it was 
a disgrace for her to be still only in the second class, when 
many 3 r ounger than she, had been months in the first ; but no 
one else took notice of it, for the poor child was so small and 
thin, so silent and shrinking, that a stranger might have sup- 
posed her one of the youngest, as well as the lowest, which she 
generally was, in the second class of healthy happy children. 
It was at this same time that a traveling carriage arrived at 
the Hall. Mr. and Mrs. Clifford were at the door to receive 
their guests ; a rather elderly gentleman stepped out of the 
carriage, and then handed from it a young slight girl, whom 
Mrs. Clifford received with a mother’s welcome. The hall- 
door was shut, and the carriage drove round to the stables. 
This young visitor was the only child of Mrs. Clifford’s earliest 
friend ; that friend had died some years before in England, and 
the father had gone to reside with this his only child abroad, 
more from change of scene than from any necessity of health. 
A mother’s sheltering tenderness had passed away from her, 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


193 


just when she began to realize the power and blessing of it. 
But that mother had led her from her earliest years to her God 
and Saviour, whose love is more than a mother’s love, and whose 
presence can never be taken away , and the motherless child 
knew where to turn in her heart’s desolation ; she had been led 
so constantly to her Saviour’ feet that it was no strange place 
to her, she had learned to tt l the wishes of her infant life to 
Him, to carry to Him her c ildhood’s hopes and fears, and now 
when bereft on earth she turned with her aching heart to 
heaven ; and the love of God, that filled the blank in life for 
her, filled also her life with sympathy for all. After her mother’s 
death she had little intercourse with any but her father, and tins 
older companionship, with her mother’s loss, had made her 
grave beyond* her years ; her face was full of thought ; and when 
she smiled it seemed rather the expression of her tenderness for 
those she loved, or pleasure in others’ mirth, than the bright 
gleam of personal merriment. On the eager glee of others, 
like herself in childhood, she seemed to look with distant pleas- 
ure ; but wherever sorrow rested she drew near — as if she felt 
her call on earth lay there. Young as she was, she had drunk 
deep of the cup of grief ; death and separation were words, the 
reality of which her hourly life still learned ; but she had tasted 
also the love that can sweeten the bitterest trial, and her sense 
of joy was still deeper than her feeling of sadness. She, herself, 
was comforted in all things — how could she then but long to 
comfort others ! There was no gloom in her sweet gravity, but 
a depth of tenderness, an assurance of sympathy, that made her 
very presence soothe. Those who shrank most from the thought 
of intrusion in their grief would welcome her, nor wish to turn 
from meeting her calm expressive eye, which seemed rather to 
take in the object on which it looked, than to search into that 
object with penetrating inquiry. 


9 


194 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Miss Clifford had been like an elder sister to her ; no place was 
like Miss Clifford’s side to her, and no one else had so much 
power to waken the silent gladness of feeling, and the graceful 
play of thought — that had slept because there had been none to 
call them forth, or give responsive tones ; but even when with 
her sister friend, her words were more often the earnest words 
that told of earnest thought. She looked upon the world around 
her, not as on a picture, as childhood for the most part beholds it 
— searching no deeper than its surface-hues of light and shadow, 
but as one who had already learned the deep realities that live 
beneath the pictured scene. When her eye rested on sorrow’s 
aspect she instantly estimated the depth of suffering by her own 
sense of grief ; and when she had tiied to comfort or relieve, she 
still retained the feeling of the sorrow being like her own — not 
to be forgotten. Yet sometimes it was her’s to sow the seeds of 
purest joy in the heart that grief had filled. Her friend, Miss 
Clifford, had known sorrow and want only as she had sought 
them out to relieve them ; the feeling they called forth in her 
was, how best to aid and comfort ; and when want was replen- 
ished, and sadness smiled on her, she passed away and felt only 
the joy of relieving. The one seemed to soothe by receiving the. 
sorrows of others into her own deep sympathy ; the other to 
brighten by shedding her own light of peace on the troubled. 
It was as one of earth’s loveliest sights to see the two, so young 
in years, with all the world could offer of attraction spread around 
them, intent in converse how best to use the blessed power 
intrusted to them — to brighten the sorrowful, and guide them 
to the holy heaven to which their own youthful steps were 
bound. Such as these lead an angel’s life on earth , and 
ministering angels love to watch and tend them unseen. And 
truly for such as these, the wilderness of many a sorrowful 
heart is made glad ; and the desert of many a sinful soul 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


186 


rejoices and blossoms as the rose — planted and watered by their 
prayerful efforts, to which God vouchsafes the increase. 

The young guest at the Hall was anxious to lose no time be- 
fore taking a drive to the neighboring town to see her old nurse, 
from whom she had never been separated till she left England with 
her father, when her mother’s faithful maid became her attendant 
The first suitable day was chosen, and as Patience was creeping 
back over the snow from school, a few minutes after four o’clock 
Mr. Clifford’s carriage drove up and stopped beside her at the dooi 
of the house where she lived, No. 9 Ivy-lane, from which the old 
nurse’s last letters had been dated. “ Does Mrs. Brame live here ?” 
asked the footman of the child. “ Yes,” said Patience, looking 
up. The man went in, and Patience slowly followed. 

“ How unhappy that little girl looked !” said Mrs. Clifford’s 
young guest. 

“ Do you mean that neatly-dressed child now gone in ?” asked 
Mrs. Clifford. 

M Yes, she looked as if she had never smiled !” 

w You don’t say so ! I was thinking how clean and comfort- 
able she appeared.” 

Mrs. Brame lived at the top of the large old house ; and though 
aged now, and, for the mos. part, slow of movement, she de- 
scended the stairs almost as quickly as the footman had run up ; 
and tears, and smiles, and words of astonishment and gladness 
were the old woman’s welcome to the child whose infancy had 
been cradled in her arms, whose opening life had been her one 
object of interest, and who through years of absence had still re- 
tained the entire possession of her nurse’s ‘heart, which had never 
glowed with affection towards any other object through life. 

For one whole hour the devoted nurse was to be allowed the 
sole possession of the child so precious to her ! But as the 
time drew near its close, the youthful Lady Gertrude askea hei 


190 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


nurse about the little girl whom she had seen enter the same 
house. Nurse Brame told her sad story, and her young listener 
sighing, said, “ I thought she looked as if her heart were empty !” 

“ Ah ! it ’s worse than that !” replied nurse Brame. “ I doubt 
if she has a heart ! Why let happen what will, I have nevei 
seen her shed a tear ! and if I have given her once, I have 
twenty times, just because I could not bear to see such a miser- 
able looking child — but I don’t believe she cares a bit more 
about me than if I had never shown her a kindness !” 

“ I wish I could see her again !” said the young Lady Ger- 
trude. 

“ It ’s not the least use !” replied the old nurse. “ I have tried 
it fifty times, there ’s no getting any thing out of her !” 

“ I must see her again if she is here still !” said the Lady 
Gertrude, “ I will go to her room and see her there.” 

The old nurse went reluctantly to inquire, in the hope of find- 
ing that Patience was not within. But she returned, saying, 
the child was alone * adding, in a tone of remonstrance, “ If 
you won’t be pacified without going, why then I must stand out- 
side her door, for if I were to let you see that child’s father, I 
should never forgive myself !” 

The Lady Gertrude made no answer, but followed her nurse 
iown the first flight of stairs to the room where poor Patience 
iwelt ; there was not much evidence of any “ pacifying” being 
ieeded in her noiseless step of youthful dignity, and her calm, 
arnest eye ; but her old nurse had always been wont to sup- 
ose the necessity of “pacifying,” as a reason for yielding to her 
/oung lady’s gentle yet decided will. The old nurse took her 
>ost to listen and watch at the top of the stairs, and the Lady 
Gertrude entered the room. One glance round "he apartment 
was sufficient to show that no mother’s care, no mother’s pres- 
ence was known there , and a rush of almost sisterly feeling 





M. C 


p. 196 












t 



















* 
















♦ 

















MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


197 


passed through the heart of the motherless child of rank and 
fortune, as she looked on the motherless child of want and sor- 
row. Patience was standing with her usual expression of dull 
and hopeless wretchedness. The young Lady Gertrude went 
up to her, and said, in her low tone of tenderness, “ Dear little 
girl, you are not happy !” She asked no question, she called 
for no reply, but she gave expression to her own sense of a fact, a 
simple fact, that none had seemed to notice before. Patience took 
up her little white linen apron, and hid her face in it, and wept. 
“ Do not cry, dear,” said the Lady Gertrude, “ I want to make you 
happy. Are you not cold without a fire ?” and she laid ber hand 
on the chilblained hands of the child. “Yes, you are very cold. 
If you have half-a-crown from my purse, then you could get some 
coal and some wood, and make a fire when I am gone, could 
you not?” But Patience still only hid her face and wept. 
Warm tears they were, melting the child’s young heart so early 
frozen, and leaving its surface to receive the first impression of 
human tenderness, which no after-time could efface or impair. 

“ Did you ever hear of Jesus ?” 

“ Yes,” said the child. 

“ He wants you to love Him, and be His child, that He may 
make you happy. Will you love Him, and try to pray to Him ? 
if you do He will be sure to comfort you.” 

“ Yes,” said the still weeping child. 

“ I shall have to go away directly ; will you not look at me, 
that you may remember me ? Because I am your friend, and I 
love you, and shall often think about you !” 

Patience looked up, but the time was gone ; the carriage was 
already within hearing. Then despairing to comfort the child, 
and feeling only, at that moment, the sorrow she could not bear 
away, the child of rank put her arm around the child of poverty, 
pressed a kiss of tenderness upon her forehead, and, putting the 


198 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


half-crown into her hand, turned away in answer to her nurse’* 
knock on the half-shut door. “ Do be kind to her !” said the 
Lady Gertrude, as she took leave of her nurse, and hastened down 
the stairs ; and in a minute more she was driving fast away. 

Mrs. Clifford observed the shade of sadness on the face of 
her young charge, and naturally concluding that she felt leav- 
ing her old nurse, immediately planned in her own mind to 
obtain the consent of her young visitor’s father, and then send 
for the old nurse to stay at the Hall. But far other were the 
thoughts of that gentle girl : her heart was lingering where she 
felt she had left an unsupplied want, an unsoothed sorrow — 
lingering with the motherless child in that bare and desolate 
room. She was thinking that she had done nothing, worse than 
nothing — had awakened the child’s sorrow, and left her uncom- 
forted. “ Why,” she thought, “ was I so determined to speak 
to her! How much better if I had not attempted what I 
could not do !” Did she not know then how often the eye re- 
turns to look again upon the first, the only star, that has sud- 
denly appeared to light up the gloom of a darkened, lowering 
sky ? Did she not know how, when in all the lonely earth no 
music wakes, if suddenly the nightingale’s rich melody fall 
upon the ear, the very heart is hushed to listen and recall the 
strain ? Did she not know how dear, how unlike all that follow, 
is the first violet, gathered where the sunbeam has warmed the 
yet wintery bank, and called for ththe herald of spring ? Yes. 
she knew that these things were so ; but she knew not that her 
visit to the child of want and suffering had been like them ; 
and so she passed away in sadness, and thought she had left 
no blessing — how many such misgiving fears will the light of 
eternity, when it falls on life past, dispel for ever ! 

Nurse Brame watched the carriage swiftly disappearing in 
the dimly-lighted lane, then turned within again, and taking 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


199 


up her candle, slowly reascended the staircase. Tae earnest 
tone in which the words, “ Do be kind to her !” had been 
'littered, left them impressed on the old woman’s heart, and the 
child seemed more associated with her young lady than any 
thing beside, and she turned into the room to speak to her. 

Poor little Patience, when left alone, had ceased her tears 
for a minute in bewildered surprise ; then raised her hand to 
feel where that kiss had been — to see if her forehead still felt 
the same ; it felt the same, but she did not — she had ceased 
to feel alone in all the world ! She had met the first gleam of 
human tenderness, and to that her shrinking spirit turned. 
She did not reason, but she felt ; and feeling lies deeper than 
reason, and often in a child supplies reason’s part — the lifeless 
chill was gone from her heart, its frozen surface thawed and 
left susceptible of passing impressions. Nurse Brame came 
in, and holding up her candle to see the child in the dark 
chamber, said, in a kind voice, “ Here, come along with me out 
of this cold place, and we will have some tea together !” 
Patience followed, and was soon seated on a stool by the little 
fire-place ; nurse Brame stirred up the dull coals into a blaze, 
and telling the child to make haste and get warm, she set out 
the little round table with her tea-board and bread and butter ; 
and lifting the kettle on the fire, sat down in the twilight and 
watched till tjie water boiled. The substantial slice of bread 
and butter, and the steaming cup of sugared tea, brought a 
little color to the • cheek of the child ; and nurse Brame cut 
the square white loaf with no sparing hand, and put more 
water on uncurled tea-leaves, that the poor child might be 
“ satisfied for once !” and all the while the old nurse felt as if she 
was just doing her young lady’s will. 

“ There, now you are neither cold nor hungry at last !” said 
iiDJse Brame, “ and you had better go down and go to bed, and 


200 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


there ’s no doubt you will sleep sound enough !” Patience 
returned to her cold dark room, and crept to the side of the 
heap of rags that made her bed ; but she too remembered the 
lady’s words, and her gentle inquiry, “ Will you try and praj ?” 
led the child, as by the silken bond of constraining love, to make 
her first faint effort. Then taking from her pocket the treasured 
half-crown, she clasped it tight in her hand, and, lying down, 
was soon asleep. 

Nurse Brame was sitting over her decaying fire that night, 
her candle was out, and it was her usual early hour of rest ; 
but she was sitting as if watching the fading embers, and 
thinking on the past events of the day — her unexpected and 
joyful surprise in her Lady Gertrude’s visit, and then the child 
— but the child, the poor child, came like a shadow across the 
sunbeam’s track. Nurse Brame had never learned the pure 
and simple joy of doing good : she had showed many a little 
kindness to the desolate child, but it was, as she herself ex- 
pressed it, because she could not bear to see so miserable a 
thing — not because she could not bear that silent suffering 
should be, if unseen ! she thought that such things must be, 
and that it was only her call to relieve when forced upon her 
notice. “ Out of sight” was w out of mind” with old nurse 
Brame, therefore a gift from her was nothing more to the 
receiver, than the same gift picked up on the' highway side — 
it came as no living witness, therefore it left no living glow : the 
receiver’s feeling was as shallow and transient as the feeling of 
the giver. But now the link between the old nurse and the 
child had changed — it was no longer the transient sight of 
want, but the feeling of her young lady’s interest. Nurse 
Brame was sitting in the dim firelight, thinking upon how 
much it would be necessary for her to do for this unhappy and, 
to her, uninteresting child — uninteresting not to her alone, bul 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


201 


to all save the one who had reached the child’s buried heart ! 
the old nurse felt she must be kind to her ; she would not 
neglect a wish of her young lady’s for the world, but she 
wanted to come to a conclusion in her own mind as to what 
amount of kindness would be sufficient. She knew not char- 
ity’s indwelling influence, which, far from consisting in this 
or that act, is the very atmosphere in which the spirit that pos- 
sesses it, lives and moves and has its being ! While so ponder - 
ing, nurse Brame heard a hasty knock on her door, and looking 
round a little startled, the woman who rented the house, letting 
out its rooms to lodgers, and living herself on the ground floor, 
opened the door and came in. “ I want you to tell me,” said 
the woman, “ what I am to do ! I have just heard — that pest of 
a man is off* to escape the constables ; I have not had a farthing 
of rent for five weeks, and what is left in the room won’t pay 
me a quarter of that ; but such as there is, I shall make the 
most I can of it, and glad enough to get rid of him. But what 
to do with the child ? I can see nothing for her but the work- 
house !” Now nurse Brame thought the work-house next in dis- 
grace to the prison itself ; and the question instantly arose in 
her mind, what would her young Lady Gertrude say when she 
saw her again and asked for the child, if she found that the 
next day she had been carried off to the work-house ! Nurse 
Brame did not consider where the disgrace of the work-house 
lay — whether with those who could do nothing to support 
themselves, or whether, not rather with those who suffered the 
young and helpless, or the old and feeble, to be carried off and 
nourished by the forced contributions of others. Nurse Brame 
considered the work-house, in some way or other, to be a dis-, 
grace ; and according to the readiest and most general custom, 
she associated that disgrace with the result, and not the cause 
of that result, and exclaimed, “ Is there nothing but the work- 


202 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


house!” “ I can think of nothing else,” replied the woman. Then 
suddenly within the mind of old nurse Brame rose the vision of 
the child, as she had been seated that evening on the stool by 
the fireside ; the stool was still there, but the child was gone. 
Why might not that warm comfortable room become the childV 
home ? Nurse Brame might feed the worse than orphan and 
yet have enough for herself — and she knew this ; the child was 
clothed in the school, and rent of room, firing and candle, 
would have cost no more. All this passed before the mind of 
old nurse Brame ; but the motive that influenced her thoughts 
was one of earthly limitation, not of Heaven’s boundless char- 
ity ; therefore it came short of such an attainment, and she 
only replied, “ Well, I would not be the one to send a child off 
to the workhouse !” The woman stood a moment considering, 
then said, “ I have a relation in the town who wants a girl, and 
perhaps if I spoke, she would take the child ; though I doubt 
if she would think her strong enough for the place.” Now u a 
place” to old nurse Brame had a respectable sound ; she con- 
sidered it no business of hers to find out what the place was — 
it was “ a place” — a place of service ; a way, in her estimation, 
of earning an honest penny — little considering how often the 
“ honest penny” of the poor is paid by dishonest hands, who 
have wrung three times the penny’s worth from the strength 
that has no redress on earth. But the day will come when the 
God of the poor “ will plead their csuse, and spoil the soul of 
those that spoiled them.” And so because the name of “ a place” 
was better than the name of “ a workhouse,” nurse Brame made 
no inquiry as to what the real thing might be, but gave her 
judgment in favor of the place, saying, “ Well, [ am sure I 
would try for the place, rather than send the poor thing off to 
the workhouse.” Meanwhile little Patience, whose fate seemed 
pending above, was quietly sleeping below. No rest-breaking 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


203 


father returned to disturb her slumber, aud she did not wake 
till the slowly dawning light shone into her dreary room ; then, 
hastily rising, she looked for her father — he was not there — she 
saw at once he had not been there ; so looking again at her 
half-crown, and once more feeling her forehead that the lady’s 
lips had kissed, she rose and dressed. There was no fire, no 
food ; but the thought of spending the half-crown was not even 
entertained — it was the lady’s gift ! the sign that made the past 
still real and present to the child ; so she put it at the bottom 
of her pocket, and was thinking about what time it could be, 
when the woman of the house came in and said, “ I am sorry 
for you, but your father is off, no one knows where, and he has 
paid me no rent for these five weeks, so I must just take what 
he has left, and hope for a better lodger; but I don’t want to 
be hard upon you, and if you think you would like to try ser- 
vice better than the workhouse, why I will go with you at once 
and see after a place that I know of ?” Poor little Patience ! 
the avalanche of frozen words fell upon her heart, still warmed 
with yesterday’s glow of feeling, making the chilling shock the 
greater. Again she hid her face and wept ! “ Poor thing !” 

said the woman in a softened tone, “ I am sure none can treat 
you worse than your own father has done ! I dare say you 
have not tasted food ; come along with me and I will give you 
some breakfast, and then we will see what can be done.” So 
taking the unresisting child by the arm, she led her down stairs, 
and gave her some bread and butter and cold tea ; and then 
after awhile repeated her question, as to whether she would like 
best to go to service or to the workhouse 1 Poor Patience did 
not know — both names were alike- to her — and beginning again 
to cry instead of answer, she only wished in her heart that the 
lady would but come again ! She felt as if there was one who 
would not let her be left alone in her misery ! The womaD 


204 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


seeing that words were hopeless, tied on her bonnet, and, fetch 
ing the child’s bonnet and cloak, put them on her, saying, “ Well 
come and see what you think of a place,” and again taking her 
by the arm, she led her through the town to a distant narrow 
street, stopping at the door of a high house. Patience was left 
in the passage while the woman went in and talked with the 
mistress, and then calling Patience in, the mistress of the house 
asked her whether she thought she could run about and do the 
work for her board and a shilling a week ? A shilling a week 
sounded like exhaustless wealth to the poor child, who knew 
nothing of the expense of necessary clothes, and she answered, 
“ Yes.” So the woman left the child, promising to send all that 
she found belonging to her, and returned well satisfied, to in- 
form nurse Brame of the success of her attempt. 

The next morning nurse Brame received a letter by the post • 
it was from her loved young lady — the old woman put on her 
spectacles, and read, with astonishment and delight, that in the 
course of that afternoon, Mr. Clifford’s carriage would take her 
back to the Hall, to stay there during the time of her young 
lady’s visit. The old woman looked twice at the letter, to be 
quite sure, then putting on her shawl and bonnet she hurried 
out to buy such additions to her wardrobe as she thought 
necessary for so great an occasion, and then hurrying home 
again, began to make preparations. The sun had set when the 
carriage drove up to the door ; the footman ran up to summon 
Mrs. Brame, and the old woman stepped down, dressed in her 
neatest and best, and the footman carried her bandbox behind 
her. Her young lady was in the carriage alone, and when the 
old woman was in and the footman waiting for orders, the Lady 
Gertrude asked her nurse whether that poor child was at home 1 
“ Ah, no, poor thing! she went off yesteiday to a place,” replied 
Mrs. Brame. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


205 


“ Thai little girl to be a servant !” asked the young Lady Ger- 
trude in a tone of surprise. 

“ Ah, yes, she is older than she has the look of, by a good bit.” 

“ Home,” said the Lady Gertrude, and the carriage drov6 on ; 
then turning, she talked with her old nurse, till, as they were 
about to leave the town, she suddenly, as if a thought for the 
first time crossed her mind, inquired, “ Do you know where that 
little girl has gone to live ?” 

“ Not the least in the world,” replied nurse Brame ; “ but she 
is gone to a place — and that ’s respectable ! they would have 
sent her off to the workhouse, but I set my face against having 
the poor thing treated like that, and now she is once in service 
she must work her way as I and others have done.” 

“ But if she should not be happy, who will know it ?” asked 
the young Lady Gertrude. 

“You need not distress yourself about that,” replied nurse 
Brame, “ she has led such a wretched life, that let service be 
what it will, it must be better than that !” 

The Lady- Gertrude said no more, she felt that the child had no 
place in the heart of her old nurse, and from that time she never 
mentioned her again ; and her nurse believed her satisfied, and 
the child a forgotten thing. In a fortnight more the young 
visitor and her father left the Hall ; and in the spring of the 
same year, they quitted England again for a residence abroad. 

When Miss Wilson next visited the school, she missed Pa- 
tience, and when she inquired of the mistress, she heard that 
the child had been forsaken by her father, and was gone to ser : 
vice. And then the mistress told her what she had now found 
out about the life of misery the poor forsaken child had led in 
her home. Miss Wilson felt very sorry, but it was too late now 
to hope to do much ; yet she could still go and see poor Patience 
iu her place o£ service ; and knowing that Patience had not 


20G 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


earned a Bible, she directly determined to go and take her one , 
60 she learnt from the mistress where Patience was living, then 
going to a shop, she bought a Bible, and went on to find poor 
Patience in her new place of service. 

It was a narrow street, and when Miss Wilson knocked at 
the door, a cross-looking woman opened it. Miss Wilson 
asked for her little scholar. The woman did not invite her in, 
but shouted to Patience to come down, and then went herself, 
and left Miss Wilson standing at the door. Patience came ; 
just the same look over her face as when at school — as if she 
expected something to be said to persuade her to try and do 
more than she had done before. But Miss Wilson knew the 
truth now, and gladly would she have comforted the pool 
desolati child — but she could only speak to her at the door of 
the house ; she gave Patience the Bible she had brought for 
her ; Patience took it and courtesied, but she did not speak, and 
Miss Wilson could never forget the look of illness in the poor 
child’s face. She went away feeling very sad about the child : 
she had always been kind to Patience, she had never spoken 
hastily or severely to her, but she had loved her less than she 
loved the other children, and poor Patience had wanted more 
love than others — not less. 

Miss Wilson waited some weeks, and then she went again to see 
Patience in her place. The same cross-looking woman opened the 
door, and Miss Wilson asked if she could speak to Patience. 

“ 0 , .she is not here,” replied the woman ; “ she fell ill of brain- 
fever, and we had her carried off to the workhouse !” 

Poor Patience ! she had no strength for work ; half-starved as 
she had been and miserable, her feeble limbs could stand no 
labor; she had toiled on till all power was gone, and now at 
last she was in the workhouse ! We will not leave her yet, 
but will go and see her there. She was laid on-a little bed in 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


207 


the sick ward of the workhouse, and nursed till the fever left 
her, and she was able to sit up. When she was well enough to 
sit up and walk about a little, she was not sent to another 
place of service ; no, she was taken two miles away from the 
town to a house in the country, where the workhouse children 
were kept. It was the beginning of May ; the trees were all in 
bud, and the hedges growing green, and the ‘lark was singing 
in the clear blue sky.* Patience had never been so far in the 
country before, she wished the drive would last very long, for 
she liked it very much, and she did not know what she might 
find at the end. It was not long, however, before they stopped 
at a large house that stood alone. A strong, kind-looking 
woman came out, and took Patience in, saying, “ Never mind, 
my dear, you will soon get better here !” Patience heard the 
words, and she looked up at the strong kind woman with some- 
thing like inquiry and wonder. But it was all true, it was the 
strong kind woman’s heart that spoke in those first words to 
the timid stranger child, and Patience was to live with her. 
And now the cold nipping winter of the poor child’s life was 
gone, and its bright spring-time began. Yes, its bright spring- 
time began in the workhouse, under the care of that strong 
vkind woman ! Patience began the next day to do a little 
work, but the woman saw directly the tired look came over her 
face, and made her leave off. Breakfast, dinner, and tea all 
came, with strengthening food for Patience ; and now that she 
was no longer faint and hungry, she began to think of all that 
she had heard long before. And first she got her little Bible, 
and read to herself, and she felt happy, reading all alone, 
and trying to remember what Miss Wilson said at the .school. 
After a little while, Patience thought that what made her 
happy would make the other children happy; so in their play- 
time she often persuaded them to ccme and sit round her ; and 


208 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


she read out of her Bible, and taught them texts and hymns, ana 
read to them from her other little books, and the children liked 
to listen. So it was that poor Patience, who seemed at school 
as if she could not learn, and would never remember any thing, 
was the first perhaps of all the children there, except little 
Ruth, to become a ministering child to others. 

Poor Patience had never known a parent’s tenderness ; but 
she soon learned to love the strong kind wOman who took care 
of all the workhouse children ; the woman moved about quickly, 
and spoke fast and loud, but her heart was kind, and Patience 
loved her, and tried to please her. When the months of May 
and June had passed away, and Patience was well again, there 
came a day of holiday in the workhouse ; and the matron told 
Patience that she might go to the town and see her friends. 
Patience had no friends except Miss Wilson, and that lady far 
away ! but she thought she should like to go and see Miss 
Wilson. Though Patience looked very small, she was older 
than she looked, and quite old enough to go to the town alone. 
She knew where Miss Wilson lived, and easily found the house. 
Miss Wilson was much surprised at seeing Patience, but very 
glad to find how happy she was in the workhouse. And now 
Patience not only answered every question put to her, but she 
told how she employed her time, and how the workhouse 
children came round and listened while she read to them, and 
told them what she had been taught at school. Miss Wilson 
gave Patience some new books for her own, to carry back with 
her : and not being able to walk so far herself, she asked her fa- 
ther to go, and one day he went, and found Patience happy her- 
self, and trying to make others happy. And there for the pres* 
cut we must leave her — a ministering child in the workhouse.* 


CHAPTER XIV. 


‘‘Tho words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life.” — John vi. 6& 

TTTHILE Patience in the workhouse was gathering other chil- 
dren round her, and teaching them the blessed words that 
had so long lain silently on her own heart ; little Jane led by 
her mother’s thoughtful care, had a mission of love to the aged. 
In the town where Mr. Mansfield lived, there stood, in a narrow 
street, a row of old almshouses ; the walls were of white plaster : 
the one single shutter to each lower lattice-window and the 
doors, were black ; and the old chimneys rose thick above the 
red tiled roof. In the spring of the year, an old man and 
woman passed under the almshouse door-way, and up the white 
deal stairs, to end their days in one of the almshouse rooms, 
which the friendly compassion of some people in the town had 
obtained for them. They had come from a large farm-house, 
where much had been under their care ; but the old man had 
failed, and now all was gone — except one four-post bedstead 
with its white dimity hangings, their two arm-chairs, a chest of 
drawers, a small round table before the fire, and a square one 
in the window, and such few other articles as were necessary to 
the furniture of one room. The old woman spread a white 
cover on the little table in the window, and hung at both small 
lattices muslin blinds, and, to a stranger’s eye, the room looked 
a picture of neatness and comfort, and the old people were 
thankful for such a refuge, but still they felt the change ; the 


210 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


old woman most of the two — and her stirring active manner 
changed to a look of silent dejection. They knew not that 
Hope that can shed its brightness no less on poverty than on 
wealth, and is the only abiding light of either. 

Mrs. Mansfield had known something of them in their better 
days, and now she Hastened to visit them in their affliction ; 
she saw the silent dejection of both, and the thought occurred 
to her mind, that very probably it was as much owing to the 
loss of all active interest in life as it was to any sense of present 
poverty ; and that to provide the old woman a little employ- 
ment might prove a great help in cheering their spirits. She 
knew also that Mrs. Blake was a good knitter ; so after sitting 
with them in sympathy a short time, she said, “ I have a little 
plan to propose to you, Mrs. Blake : I know you are a, superior 
knitter, and I want my eldest little girl to learn the art, and if 
you would not object to take a little pupil, I would send her to 
you three times a week for an hour, and then send for her 
again. I should thankfully pay a shilling a week for her in- 
struction till she can manage it well enough to go on by herself.’* 

“I am sure I should be thankful,” replied Mrs. Blake, “it 
would seem a little company, and cheer us up every way !” So 
the next day was fixed for a beginning. 

“Jane,” said Mrs. Mansfield, that afternoon, “I am going to 
send you to-morrow to take your first lessons in knitting ; you 
are going to a kind old woman who is willing to teach you. 
I am sure you will be very attentive, and try to give her no 
trouble.” 

“ Is she very old, mamma ?” 

“ I dare say you would think her very old, so you must be 
careful not to tire her by making her tell you the same thing 
over a great many times. You know you have often wished 
you could knit like me, and now you will learn.” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


211 


Jane took the first opportunity of getting off* to the nursery, 
being always anxious to tell all that concerned herself to her 

nurse. 

“ Nurse, I am going to learn to knit like mamma ; there is a 
very old woman who is going to teach me ; mamma says I slial] 
think her a very old woman ! Do you think, nurse, I can do 
any thing for her ?” 

“ Yes, to be sure ; I never saw the old woman yet that a child 
could not be a comfort to if there was the mind to try !” 

“ What do you think I can do, nurse ?” 

“ How should I know ? that ’s for you to find out when you 
are there.” 

Little Jane had no love for suspense, and she thought it 
would be much pleasanter to know at once just what she 
could do for this very old woman, and though it was her 
nurse who had taught her to reverence old age, still her 
mother was always her final appeal, so she did not stay long 
in the nursery, but made her way back again to her mother’s side. 

“ Mamma, nurse says I can do something for the old woman. 
What can I do ?” 

“ I hope you will be her little comforter, Jane, and that will 
be doing the best thing for her, for she is very sorrowful.” 

u How can I be her comforter, mamma ?” 

“ Only by loving her, and trying to make her happy, as you 
cry to make me when I am sad.” 

“ I read to you out of the jBible to comfort you, mamma, will 
that comfort the old woman ?” 

“ Yes, I hope it will. You will find an old man also ; the old 
woman’s husband ; and when you have knitted three quarters 
of an hour, you can tell the old woman that you read to me * 
to make* me happy, and that if she will let you, you will read 
to her.” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


U12 


“ How shall I know when it is three quarters of an hour, 
mamma ?” 

“ Mr. Blake, the old man has a watch, and he will tell you 
if you ask him.” 

Now, little Jane was perfectly satisfied, and with a path 
before her clear and bright as the shining light, she waited for 
her next day’s lesson. 

Her nurse led her to the almshouse, up the white deal stair- 
case, knocked at the black door where the No. 3 was painted 
in large white letters, and left Jane seated on a stool by Mrs. 
Blake’s side. Jane was a timid child, and she felt a little 
strange, and the color came to her cheek when left alone 
with the old people ; but she remembered that she was to try 
and be a comfort to them, and any sense of power soon dispels 
the slavery of fear. Jane tried to do her best, but the knitting- 
pins were strangers to her little fingers, and she longed to get 
to the pages of the Bible to which those same little fingers had 
so long been used. 

“ Is it three-quarters of an hour yet, do you think ?” asked 
Jane of Mrs. Blake. 

“ No, my dear, not more than one as yet, I should say.” 

Jane knitted on in patience, but the time seemed very long, 
while she grasped as tight as possible pins, which as yet she 
knew not the skill of holding with easier pressure. “ Do you 
think it is nearly three-quarters now ?” At length she asked 
again. Then the old man’s pity awoke, and taking out his 
watch, he laid it on the table by the child, and said, “ There, 
dear, now you can see for yourself !” 

“ I don’t know what ’s o’clock when I look,” said little Jane. 

“ Come, wife,” said Mr. Blake, “ you have had time enough for 
your teachings ; I will give mine now. Come here, dear, a nd 
I will show you all about it !” So Jane stood at the old man’a 



M. C 


p. 212. 












































MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


213 


knee, and he taught her how to find out what it was o’clock, 
and spun out his lesson till the three quarters were fairly over. 

“ Is it quite three quarters ?” asked Jane. 

“ Yes, dear ; do you want to be going ?” 

“No, I don’t want to go, but mamma said, would you like 
me to read in the Bible to you when it was three quarters of 
an hour ?” 

“ Yes, to be sure !” said the old man. “ Wife, where ’s oui 
Bible ?” 

“ It ’s here where it always is,” said Mrs. Blake, going to the 
chest of drawers, “ but it ’s too big for a child !” 

“ I can stand at the table,” said little Jane ; “ I can find the 
place where I read to mamma this morning — I can find places 
in the Bible now all by myself ! — shall I read what I read to 
mamma about the sheep and the goats ?” 

“ Yes, dear, that ’s just what I should like !” said the old 
farmer. 

So the child stood up between the two old people, and her 
young voice bore on its feeble breath the seed of eternal life — 
herself unconscious of the enduring influence of the words that 
“ are spirit and life,” thinking only of its present power to com- 
fort. 

When Jane had done, the old man said, “ Ah, thank you, 
dear, those are cutting words !” but Mrs. Blake only praised 
little Jane’s reading. Jane looked at her, surprised and disap- 
pointed — as having expected a far higher result than any 
thought of her reading, and said, gravely, “ It makes mamma 
happy when I read her the Bible !” 

“ Ah, dear, that ’s as it should be !” said the old man. 

“ Does it make you happy?” asked little Jane, turning to 
him. 

“ God grant it may ! God grant it mav !” he replied, and 


214 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


little Jane satisfied with his words, shut up the great Bible 
Mrs. Blake saw that she had answered wrong, and that the child 
had expected what was read to have some effect on her ; she 
said no more then, but she determined next time to listen, that 
she might see whether she could find any thing in the words 
themselves. Then rising up, Mrs. Blake went to her closet and 
brought out her wheaten loaf and slice of butter, and cutting 
some bread and butter for Jane, she offered it to her. She had 
been used to bring out her home-made cake and wine to her 
guests ; and now, though bread and butter was all her store, she 
would still offer that. Little Jane received the offer of the poor 
old woman as she would have received the same kind care from 
the rich ; and then, her nurse arriving, she returned to her home, 
to give to her mother her simple account of all that had passed. 
And on through the summer weeks little Jane knitted her three 
quarters of an hour, then told the time from the old man’s 
watch, and read her chapter out of the great Bible — and thus 
the child became a ministering guide to Heaven ! 

Before we leave the town we will pay a farewell visit to the 
shoemaker’s family. We saw them before, on the Christmas- 
eve ; and it was still the winter-time, when, if you could have 
looked, in of an evening after the day’s work was done, and 
when the mother’s candle was lighted, and she was sitting 
by the round table at work, you would have seen on the 
table a pile of loose pages, and Agnes and Ephraim seated 
side by side, sorting and arranging them : they were pages 
of the New Testament, which Miss Wilson had found in 
one of the school closets — a heap of old and torn copies of 
the Holy Testament ; so she sent them to the shoemaker’s look- 
binding son, for him to see what he could do with them. The 
book-binding boj set his little brother and sister to work, and 
every evening after, they sorted the sacred pages, till they had 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


216 


some Testaments complete, and some separate Gospels complete, 
and some Epistles complete ; then the shoemaker’s book-binding 
son carried them off, and in his spare time, with the pieces his 
master allowed him to use, he put them all into neat dark 
covers, and then he gave them to Miss Wilson, saying, “ I liavo 
not money, but I have a little time to give, and I want it to be 
my offering to those that have need.” He brought eight 
volumes — Testaments and parts of Testaments, refusing any pay- 
ment, leaving the words that are “ spirit and life,” again ready 
for the use of the poor and needy. So it was that the shoe- 
maker’s children ministered to others, “ according to their ability.” 

While little Patience gathered health and strength in the 
warm summer-time beneath the workhouse matron’s care, the 
life of the young sweet lady of the Hall was passing from the 
earth. Every one around her watched her gently fading from 
their sight ; her parents knew that she was dying, and looked 
upon her day by day as if each look might be their last upon 
her living form ; the servants watched her whenever in their 
sight, and thought of all that devoted service could do — as if 
they felt each act might be the last that loving reverence might 
offer her; the villagers looked fiom their labor when the car- 
riage passed — and if she was in it, they turned and watched it 
out of sight ; the cottage women looked from door or window, 
then sighing turned again to their work within ; the very 
children of the village knew that their lady was departing, and 
looked into her face with silent questioning, which there was 
none to answer — for their young hearts spoke by looks alone ; 
all knew that she had well-nigh reached Heaven’s gate, all but 
her own young brother — he looked on her, but her smile, un- 
changed, still threw its veil of beauty over weakness and pain ; 
he looked no deeper than that smile, and thought that howevei 
her strength might change, that smile would be always beside 


216 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


him ; and lest he should find that others thought differently, he 
never asked of any what they thought, and so he knew it not, 
hut still believed that, with the greatest care, she might recover 
again, as she had done before. It was now some -weeks since 
he had been to old Willy’s, for the last time he went, and 
expressed his hope that his sister would soon be well again, old 
Willy had shaken his head ; Herbert saw and felt that shake of 
the old man’s head ; he said nothing, but he kept dway from 
the cottage after that, afraid to venture again. 

It was the close of June, the air breathed the fragrance of 
the new-mown grass over the hills, the song of the birds was 
hushed at mid-day, and the heavy foliage hung its soft shade be- 
tween the earth and sky. Miss Clifford came down in her shawl 
and bonnet, and Herbert, ever on the watch, soon had her learn 
ing on his arm, crossing the unsheltered lawn. “ You will not 
go this way, Mary, you will want the shade of the trees,” he 
said — without arresting by a pause the frail steps he supported. 

“No, I want to go this way to-day,” she replied ; “ and as I 
can not talk while walking, we will sit down on this seat, and I 
will tell you why.” 

Herbert sat down beside his sister, and she said, “ There is a 
poor old woman who lives not far from the Lime-avenue Lodge ; 
she is very ill ; I fear they think her dying, and I want to go to- 
day and visit her.” 

“ Indeed, Mary, you must not go ! you know mamma never lets 
you go and sit in sick rooms ; and now, when you can not take 
a little walk without being tired, I am sure you must not go !” 

“ Yes, dear Herbert, mamma does not mind to-day ; she 
knows I am going, and you will go with me. I fear the pool 
woman is dying without a hope beyond the grave, and there is 
no one to tell her of ‘ the precious blood that cleanseth from all 
sin.’ ” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


217 


Herbert was silent ; he thought, could he go and tell the 
dying woman of the precious blood of Jesus, that, could cleanse 
her from her sins ? No, he thought he could not ; he feared 
he should not know what to say to her ; he had never seen 
sickness and death, and he was afraid to venture ; so he let his 
sister take his arm, and he led her gently on ; they were silent 
till they reached the cottage. The dying woman was lying on 
a bed put up for her in the lower room ; she looked toward Miss 
Clifford, but did not speak. Herbert stayed by the open case- 
ment, and Miss Clifford went to the bedside. “ I am sorry to 
see you so ill,” said Miss Clifford. 

“ O, dear, yes, and I am as bad in mind as I am in body !” 
the dying woman replied. 

“ What is it that troubles you ?” Miss Clifford asked. 

M What is it ! why it ’s every thing, even to the look of peace 
on my husband’s face — for to my belief the peace he has is as 
much above my reach as the Heaven itself !” 

“ It is the peace of God your husband has ; the peace of one 
who has found the Saviour ; none ever reached that peace of 
themselves ; but God who gave it to him, can give it also to 
you.” 

“ Yes, our minister has been here, and he told me I must re- 
pent ; he said, that there was no mercy without that, and I told 
him it was no use, for I could not repent ; I don’t feel it, and I 
told him so.” 

“ You can not get repentance any more tlan peace of yourself; 
they are both the gift of God ; but it is written in the Bible, 
‘ Ask, and it shall be given you !’ ” 

« Yes, I dare say it ’s all to be had by those who have not set 
themselves against it all their life-long as I have done, but 
there ’s none can tell how I have turned against it — therefore 
there ’s none can say that it ’s for me !” 

10 


218 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


u Shall 1 tell you what God, who knows all things, says fn 
His Word ?” 

“ Yes, I don’t mind hearing now !” 

“ He says, ‘ 0 Israel, thou hast destroyed thyself, but in Me 
is thy help found !’ ” 

The dying woman looked up ; those words, “ Thou hast de- 
stroyed thyself,” reached the depth of her sense of misery ; they 
included it all, and made her feel that if over those “ destroyed” 
there was hope, then might there be a hope for her. Clasping 
her hands together, and fixing her dying eyes upon the young 
speaker, she exclaimed, “ O, how you comfort me !” then, clos- 
ing her eyes, she listened while again the same words which 
had proved so instantly “ spirit and life” to her were repeated. 
After telling her of Jesus — the One mighty to save, on whom 
help for the sinful has been laid, whose precious blood can 
cleanse from all sin, the young lady took her leave, and left her 
to the hope she had set before her in the Gospel — that one 
declaration of divine truth, which, admitting all her sin and 
misery, turned her eye not on herself for repentance, but on 
Jesus for help, and touched her heart ; the seed of hope was 
planted, and in the last great day it may be seen to have 
brought forth fruit to life eternal. 

Herbert led his sister gently home, he laid her on her couch 
to rest — wearied with her effort she did not speak, but laid her 
hand upon his head and smiled upon him — one long sweet 
smile that met his earnest and inquiring look: then Herbert 
turned away thoughtfully to his room ; he had a purpose in 
going there— it was to take his Bible in his hand; to hold 
again, himself, in his own hand, the wondrous Book, whose 
words from his sister’s lips he had but just seen change the face 
of dull despair to the eager gaze of sudden hope. He held his 
Bible, he looked upon its pages, he saw the words so thickly 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


219 


traced, and thought again upon the living, the creative power 
he had but now seen them possessed of, and he resolved that 
the highest object of his life should be to make them his own 
by hiding them within his heart — that he might both live him- 
self by their help, and use them in aid of others. He held the 
sacred volume as the young soldier grasps his sword — for per- 
sonal and relative defense : but Herbert’s was “ the sword of the 
Spirit, the Word of God” — which wounds but to heal ; which 
destroys — not man, but sin, man’s enemy ; a sword given to 
be used — not to defend one human being against another, but 
to defend all against the powers of evil, to rescue all from Satan’s 
dreadful dominion. Happy the child who goes forth early in 
this blessed warfare— who, taking the Word of God, first proves 
its power in his own heart and life, then tries to use it for 
others’ good ; “ he shall stand in the evil day, and having done 
all, shall stand,” and those beside him whom God will have 
given him to be his glory and joy in the day of Christ’s appear- 



CHAPTER XV. 


“O, I stand trembling 
Where foot of mortal ne’er hath been , 

Wrapt in the radiance of that sinless land 
Which eye hath never seen. 

“Bright visions come and go, 

Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng, 

From angel lips I seem to hear the flow 
Of soft and holy song.” 

T was the summer night. The heavens, so softly blue, were 
gleaming with their host of countless stars : the village slept 
in the calm hush of midnight’s hour, it slept and knew not that 
its best and dearest treasure was passing from its sight forever. 
Horses’ hoofs trod swiftly through the village street, but they 
roused not the laborer whose healthful sleep is sweet to him 
after the long day’s toil ; then all was silent, till after an hour’s 
space, carriage wheels rolled rapidly by, it sounded like the 
doctor’s carriage, and affection’s wakeful ear and heart were 
roused — many a villager listened, and some looked anxiously 
out, but the distant sound had died away, and all was silent 
again. With the dawn, the village rose, “ Man goeth forth to 
his work and to his labor till the evening.” Far over the 
bright pastures the grass had withered — the flower faded be- 
neath the mower’s scythe ; and one, the sweetest flower that 
ever grew within the village bound, one that every village hand 
would have been raised to shield and to retain, had fallen too 
beneath the scythe of death — the young sweet lady of + he Hall 





MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


221 


lay dead ; that night her spirit had departed, and the place that 
had known her, knew her no more. The villagers soon learned 
the tidings, and one told another, till every cottage knew and 
mourned its loss. Yet they said not, “ She is dead but only, 
“ She is gone !” They thought not of death, but of Heaven 
as her portion ; so they said one to another, “ She is gone !” and 
the laborer raised his arm, from turning the new-made hay, and 
wiped away the tear that dimmed his eye ; and the widow wept 
alone within her cottage door ; and the village mother, silent 
and sad, prepared the morning meal, and the children cried be- 
side their untasted food — the village mourned, for the friend, the 
loved of all, was gone ! 

The windows of the Hall were curtained — the stately home 
of her birth closed in ; guarding the still repose of that lovely 
form in death which it had sheltered through life. The grief of 
the home was calmed by the near approach to Heaven’s gate 
with the bright spirit who had, manifestly to all, entered in ; and 
for a time the glory that received her, struggled with the sadness 
her departure had left behind — even as the sun’s parting rays 
cast their light back on the gray shades of advancing twilight. 
Poor Herbert‘alone had been surprised as by a sudden shoc k, 
he knew not that she was going, till, lo ! she was gone ! Grief 
held him in its heavy fetters, he could think of and feel nothing 
but the first overpowering sense of death and desolation ; he 
knew too little yet of what it is to rise in heart and live in Heav 
en, to be able to feel communion of spirit still with her whon 
he had lost on Earth. 

The day of the funeral came, and the whole village gathered 
to the grave — there came the old and feeble, whom her hands 
had clothed and fed, her lips had taught and comforted : there 
came the dark transgressor, whose chains of sin had melted 
under her fervent utterance of Heavenly truth and love ; there 


222 


. MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


came the strong-built laborer, whose dull mind had gathered 
light under her gentle teaching, whose hand of iron-strength 
had followed her frail finger, tracing out the sacred lessons of 
holy writ ; there came the village children, the lambs of the 
Chief Shepherd’s fold, whom she had fed with the living Word 
of the Lord of Life — all came to see the form they had loved 
laid to its rest-, till the resurrection of the just. Respect brought 
some, but it was love unfeigned that led the many there : they 
filled the churchyard, lined the wooded lane that led down the 
hill-side, reached to the park-gate and stood beneath the trees 
that grew beside it. Old Willy had climbed the hill, and lean 
ing on his staff, stood beneath the churchyard Yew. Then the 
long procession came in sight, the servants of her home would 
suffer no hired hand to bear her honored form and lay it to 
its rest ; slowly they came, the snow-white border of the sable 
pall gleaming between the old trees of the park ; telling of 
purity and light that encompasseth the blessed, hidden from 
earthly sight by the dark shade of death. Herbert was led by 
his father, and the long train of mourners followed. There 
stood the mourning village, and the mourners from many a 
village round. The great men of the Earth have a name 
through its generations, and then, if their greatness has been 
of Earth only, their very name must pass away and be lost for- 
ever : but the childlike spirit, who lives to minister to others’ 
good, to ease the burden of the weary-hearted, to sweeten and 
bless life’s bitter cup, to win the lost to the Saviour’s feet — 
luring on, by words of truth and bright example of Heavenly 
love, from Earth to Heaven, from darkness into light, from 
death to life — has a record written on human hearts whose 
records are eternal. A suppressed sob heaved the breasts of 
the villagers as she — who had ever come among them in life to 
bless— was borne into the midst of them sleeping in death. The 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


223 




village children Lad filled their pinafores with the summer 
flowers, they had been wont to gather them to win her smile, 
and now they cast them down before the feet of those who bore 
her to her rest ; she who most endeared the flowers to them 
had passed away from earth forever. 

The clergyman of the village, an old man, had served that 
village-church for thirty years, but not a single voice had blessed 
him, for he knew not the power of that love by which the min- 
ister of Christ unlocks the sinner’s heart. He had now stepped 
from his garden to the vestry on the other side of the church, 
and it was not till called to meet the departed that he saw the 
assembled village. As the sight from the church porch first 
broke upon him, he stood for a moment overcome — such a com- 
pany of mourning people — children whose sobs answered to the 
silent tears of strong-built men and helpless age, was grief too 
real not to raise the instant question within him, “ What woke 
this burst of love ?” and he stood silent and awe-struck at the 
church’s porch. Meanwhile the bearers waited, they had reached 
the churchyard gate, and would not enter without the words of 
holiest greeting for the earthly form they bore ; then, in that 
moment’s solemn pause, old Willy, standing beneath the Yew 
raised his voice, and calmly and distinctly exclaimed, “ Welcome 
the holy dead !” At the sound of those firm tones of age, the 
Minister recovered speech ; he came forward with the words of 
Life, and the bearers followed him into the church. The ser- 
vice went calmly on ; but when the white coffin was borne 
within the tomb, overcome by the hopelessness with which they 
hid his sister from his sight forever upon Earth, Herbert fainted 
and fell. The servants came forward, but meanwhile Jem had 
darted through them, and kneeling on one knee at Herbert’s 
side, looked up at the father’s face for permission to raise the 
boy : the servants would have put him aside, but the father 


224 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


moved liis hand to them to retire, and lifting Herbert from the 
ground, placed him in the arms of the faithful Jem, sending a 
servant hastily forward to prevent needless alarm to Mrs. Clif- 
ford. The throng separated for Jem to pass, bearing his pre- 
cious burden — the child of fortune — the only hope of hi> 
father’s house, trusted to one of themselves, borne by the vil 
lage lad to his home. Jem made his way down the hill s;de, 
then stopped a moment to raise the boy’s arm, which had fallen 
from its posture of rest, and as he laid the small, soft hand on 
the breast of the boy, he thought of the day when he had 
taught it first to use the tools so large and heavy for its strength, 
in labor for the poor and needy ! and the tear of past and 
present feeling gathered in the eyes of the faithful Jem. Jem 
was met on his way to the Hall, and accompanied by some of 
the maid-servants to the house. Mrs. Clifford waited anxiously 
at the door. 

“ It ’s only a fainting, ma’am,” said Jem ; “ it was all over too 
much for my young master, but he will come to quick enough 
now !” 

Mrs. Clifford bent a moment over the fainting boy, almost as 
pale herself — her vision almost as dim. “ Bring him in here 
and lay him down,” she said ; and she opened the nearest door, 
while the maids gathered to the Hall, bearing various remedies 
and helps. Mrs. Clifford preceded Jem into the dining-room 
—the very room where Jem had stood before alone with the 
young Squire to receive his mother’s scarlet cloak. 

“ Come in and lay him here,” saad Mrs. Clifford, and she placed 
the damask cushion for the boy’s unconscious head. Jem had 
felt no hesitation in raising the heir of that stately dwelling in 
his arms, to bear him to his home ; but now that by daylight 
he saw the rich carpet that lay before his feet, he held back 
with his precious burden, hesitating in his rough shoes to tread 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


225 




upon a tiling so costly — even so it is that the poorest can rse 
in a moment to feel and act up to the universal tie of nature’s 
one brotherhood, but they pause at the threshold of wealth’s 
display ; and own, as if by instinct, that the separating line lies 
there ! 

“ Bring him in,” repeated the housekeeper ; and friends within 
the house were gathering, and maid-servants were waiting round, 
and so Jem bore the child of the mansion across the soft-car- 
peted floor, laid him gently down with his pale cheek on the 
crimson cushion, and then, as he stepped back, while Herbeit’s 
mother knelt beside the couch, and friends drew nearer and ser- 
vants waited — Jem, bowing, asked, “ Will you please that I should 
fetch the doctor?” but the housekeeper shook her head and 
whispered “No then Jem, with another bow of lowliest 
reverence, and a look of anxious love toward the fainting boy, 
withdrew. He saw the long train of mourners descending the 
hill, and made his way straight to the farm, there to solace him- 
self among his sheep. 

The evening shadows fell and closed that summer day ; the 
folded flowers, the folded flocks, the birds with folded wing — 
all sought repose ; while softly calm the moon rose over all in 
the blue heavens. Old Willy had vainly tried to comfort his 
troubled heart — his eyes were dim, he could not see the words 
of the Book ; he sat awhile within doors, then stepped into his 
garden, then back again within the cottage in wearied restless- 
ness, wanting some human voice to fall on his aching heart 
with tones of comfort ; but a^that summer day were mourners, 
and no earthly comforter drew near. When the hush of even- 
ing shed its soothing silence round, and sleep seemed far awa} 
from old Willy’s tear-dimmed eyes, he took his staff and set 
forth to climb once more that day the steep hill-side, and lo 3k 
upon the tomb where they had laid his blessed guide to Heaven. 


226 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


All were gone from the' hill-side ; and the Hall, with its tar- 
stretching slopes, lay silently and beautifully in the summer 
evening twilight. Old Willy looked round onoe from the hill- 
top on his lady’s home on earth, then turned to the church- 
yard gate, and leaning upon it, rested there a little while before 
he ventured further, for the place where they had laid her 
seemed to the old man holy ground — too sacred almost for his 
feet to enter. So he leaned upon the gate, looking on into the 
distant azure of the sky, looking almost without sight or 
thought, his senses lost in one deep feeling — they had laid his 
sweet young lady in the grave, they had left her there alone, 
the night was darkening over her, and he alone kept watch 
above the form so loved of all ! How long he stood he did not 
know, but suddenly he saw in those blue heavens before his 
eyes a shining star, full on his sight its radiance beamed, the 
only star in heaven, risen there in view, and looking down to 
comfort him, it seemed ! “ Ah ! sure I see it,” the old man said, 

in a low tone, “ sure I see it ’s no use looking down in the dark 
grave for her that ’s up above the stars in glory there ! I see it !” 
again he murmured low, as with a lingering gaze on that bright 
star he turned to depart ; but then again he looked toward the 
tomb, and thought he would stand beside it once before the 
night came on, and so he climbed the stile beside the now 
locked gate, and reached the silent grave ; then stopping short 
gazed in surprise, for at its foot a child lay sleeping, her head 
reclined against the lady’s tomb, her lap full of fresh-gathered 
flowers. “ Poor dear,” said the id man, “ she has fallen oflf 
asleep ; why, ’tis little Mercy Jones ! Mercy, child ! I say, wake 
up there !” And the child sprang up from sleep like a startled 
fawn, and her flowers dropped from her pinafore ; but when she 
saw it was old Willy, she stood still, looking down on the fallen 
flowers. 


M I N I S T E R I N C. CHILDREN. 


22 1 


w Why, Mercy, child, you must not stay sleeping here, it 's no 
place for you !” 

“ Yes, but it is,” said the child, without looking up ; w it ’s 
tbe best place in all the world — to be near to my lady ! I 
nave not been so near to her since that last day she came 
and stood among us all in school, only I can’t see her now 
Oli, if I could but see her !” And the child sat down again 
at the tomb’s foot beside her fallen flowers and hid her face and 
wept. 

The tears again dimmed old Willy’s eyes, but still he saw 
that beauteous star shining so brightly down from the blue 
Heaven — looking full upon both him and the young child, as 
they watched there beside the tomb within the churchyard 
dreary ! and he answered quickly, “ Why, child, your blessed 
lady is not here, look there, she ’s shining bright in Heaven !” 
The child looked up with sudden start, as if expecting that 
angel face to beam upon her from above, or to get some distant 
glimpse of her lady’s white-robed form in glory ; she looked 
where the old man pointed, and her eye too rested on the star 
— on those calm blue Heavens above her, and that beaming 
star so full of softened glory — she looked, then said, “ I only 
see a star !” 

“ Well, child, what more would you see ? Is not that star 
enough ? is n’t it just come shining down from Heaven upon you 
to tell you that the blessed lady is up above it far away in 
glory ? For what did God send it in the sky there, if not to 
put you in mind that there ’s a world of glory up above, all 
shining bright like that same star, and that He took, the blessed 
lady straight up to it. to dwell with Him forever ?” 

“ Yes, I know it,” said little Mercy, “ and I wish I was with 
her there !” 

“ Then, child, you must be walking the path she went.” 


228 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


“ What path was that ?” asked Mercy, looking up to the old 
man’s face. 

“ Why, the blessed path of love, child ! love to God and man ; 
her mind was always on her Saviour, and trying to bring others 
to the love of Him. Oh, child ! it ’s written in the Book that 
* God is Love,’ and there ’s none but a path of love that can 
lead up to Him.” 

Little Mercy was silent ; she had tried to tread the path of 
love, in which her lady had taught her to walk, she had tried 
to please God her Heavenly Father, and Jesus her Saviour, and 
to be a ministering child to others ; and now she knew not 
what more to do ; all looked dreary and dull around her, and 
she was silent. 

“ Come now, child,” then old Willy said, “ it ’s best to begin 
at once ! You know right well your poor grandmother is fret 
ting at home for that blessed lady that ’s gone, now, do you go 
back, and be cheerful, and comfort her up.” 

“ Yes,” said little Mercy, 44 I came here because I could not 
bear it. — Granny cried, and said, 4 the summer time seemed 
gone from the earth !’ and though I had set the supper all 
ready, Uncle Jem turned away and never eat a bit ! so I went 
and gathered those flowers and came here.” 

44 Well, child, you know you have seen that star, there it 
is, look at it, see how it shines right down upon us here — a 
bit of glory as it is ! Now, you go and be like that, you go 
and try. He who sent that star to light us up with comfort 
here, sent you to your good grandmother to be a bit of ligh 
to her in this lonesome world — you mind that, and go and try, 
till the day comes when you will go, as the blessed lady ’s gone, 
to Heaven.” 

So little Mercy rose, and took her 1 onnet from the ground, 
and the old man laid his hand upon her head, and blessed 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


229 


her, and she left her fallen flowers at the foot of the tomb, 
and back she went with many a look upon the star in the 
blue sky ; from whatever point she turned to look, the star 
still beamed upon her, — seemed to watch her still, so she went 
back with light in her eyes and fresh life in her young heart, 
gathered from the old man’s words and the bright star in 
Ileaven. Old Willy, too, went home, and from his cottage 
door beheld the same bright star, then laid him down to rest — 
to sleep and dream of glory. 


CHAPTEE XVI. 


4 Tho memory of the just Is blessed.” — Proverbs x. 7. 

“Being dead, yet speaketh.”— Hebrews xi. 4. 

rriHE old clergyman could not forget the scene he had wit* 
nessed, but the love and the sorrow were both incomprehen- 
sible to him ; he felt their reality, hut could not understand 
their cause. At length it occurred to him, how often, in driv- 
ing out, he had seen Miss Clifford’s ponies at the cottage doors ; 
he instantly concluded that it must be the notice she had 
taken of the poor that had endeared her to them ; and think- 
ing it would be pleasant to win the same feeling for himself, 
pleasant to have the love of all his people in life, and their 
tears above his grave, he determined to. visit, himself, from 
house to house with this object. He thought also that it would 
be pleasant to be kind to those who showed so much feeling, 
such warm return of gratitude : so he set forth. He went 
through the village street, calling at every house, leaving his 
gifts of money, and saying a few words to all, but he returned 
dissatisfied: he had met no smile of welcome, seen no tear- 
dimmed eye grown bright ; heard no blessing. What made 
the difference ? Why had he no power, and she — the departed 
so young in years ! why had she so much ? He could not tell : 
he did not know that a difference, as real as that of Earth and 
Heaven, lay between his visits and the visits of her the village 
mourned. He had gone in his own name, his words were of 
Earth, his gifts the dob of the richer to the poorer ; his object 


* 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


231 


was to please, and to win affection and gratitude to himself ; 
but she they mourned, had gone to none but in the Name of 
£esus ; her words breathed to all the love and truth of Heaven : 
her gifts were ever the expression of her thoughtful sympathy 
— warm with compassion’s tenderness, and bright with the 
glad power of administering aid ; such was her way of giving 
that her gift ever elevated, instead of seeming to degrade or 
lower the receiver ; her highest object was not to win feeling 
toward herself, but to win the whole heart and life of those 
she visited to her Saviour and their Saviour, that they might 
be happy in Him, and He glorified in them : therefore an over- 
flowing recompense was poured out for her — for “ with what 
measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.” But the 
aged clergyman knew not that the difference between his 
Earthly kindness and her Heavenly love, was wide as the east 
is from the west. He was disappointed, and resolved to give 
up the vain attempt, and go on as before. But then a recol- 
lection of that old man who had stood within the churchyard 
gate, and uttered those words of blessing on the departed, 
crossed his mind, and he resolved to go and call on him, and 
see what he would say. 

Old Willy saw his minister coming up his cottage garden, 
and stood at his door with his hat in his hand to receive him : 
old Willy had learned to behave himself lowly and reverently 
to those whom God had placed above him in station, and cour- 
teously to all. There is no such teacher of true courtesy as pure 
Religion — if we would only learn of her ! 

“ Sit down, my good friend, sit down,” said the clergyman. 
11 What a nice house you have here ! I think I remember this 
quite a tumble-down building ?” 

“ Very like you may, sir ; for that was the fashion of it many 
a long day !” 


232 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

“ I think I saw you at Miss Clifford’s funeral ‘.he other day V 
observed the clergyman. 

Old Willy sobbed out, “ Yes, sir !” overcome at the sudden 
mention of the subject. 

“ Never mind my good friend, I am sorry to distress you. I 
suppose Miss Clifford was very good to the poor ?” 

“ Ah yes, sir ! if I might have given my old life for her’s, 
there ’s hundreds would have blessed me !” 

“ Miss Clifford came to see you, I suppose ?” 

“ Yes, sir, sure enough she did, but it was Him she brought 
with her, that made her wholly a blessing.” 

“ Who was that ?” asked the minister. 

“ Why our Saviour, sir ! she never went any where to my 
belief without Him, and you never saw her but you seemed to 
gef a fresh sight of Him.” 

The clergyman was silent ; at length he said, “ Well, my 
good friend, you come very regular to church, I wish I could see 
a few more of your neighbors there.” 

“ Yes, sir, but then you see we want teaching ! and there ’s 
some of them that can walk after that.” 

“ To be sure they want teaching * and have not I preached 
two sermons every Sunday for thirty years ? Why don’t they 
come to hear them ?” 

“ That ’s true enough, sir, there ’s none can say to the contrary 
of that ; no doubt there ’s teaching enough in your sermons to 
do any body good ; only poor dark creatures as we are, can’t 
get hold of it, because the Light isn’t set up in the midst of it.” 

“ What Light do you mean ?” 

“ Why, sir, I mean him that is the Light of the world, with- 
out whom ’tis groping in the dark. I mean )ur Saviour, sir ! 
why when one gets a sight of Him, then one can see and get 
a hold of all the good that lies round ; but when there ’s nc 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


233 


getting a sight of Him, why it seems all the same as leading a 
poor creature out when the sun is not in the sky — there ’s no 
getting a right understanding of any thing.” 

The aged minister was silent again ; old Willy waited, but 
when the silence lasted, he laid his hand upon the Bible at his 
6ide, saying, “ I never look in here for teaching, but I see Him 
before me ! He is just the very light of my old heart, that was 
as dark as death before. I first got a sight of Him, out of this 
Book, and now I never so much as look into it but I see Him, 
and I find that it holds but dark where there ’s no retting up of 
Him.” 

“ Well, my good friend, I will think of your words,” said the 
old clergyman, and with that withdrew. 

The summer sun had three times risen and set since Herbert 
sank beside his sister’s grave ; he was lying on his mother’s 
couch : his cheek almost as pale as then ; his Bible lay beside 
him, but he had ceased to read, and was lying with a look of 
sad and earnest thought : his mother watched him anxiously, 
but feared to question him, lest she should but wake her own 
deep grief and his into expression. 

“ Mamma,” at last he said, “ you see it is harder for me than 
for any one.” 

“ What is harder ?” asked Mrs. Clifford. 

“ To lose Mary, mamma.” 

“ Why is it harder for you, dear Herbert ?” 

“ Because you and papa are so good ! but I was always get- 
ting wrong, and never should have got right again if it had 
not been for Mary’s smile.” 

Mrs. Clifford was silent, she could not question more on such 
a subject. Herbert soon went on to say, 

u You see, mamma, when J got into trouble, you and papa of 
course were disp l eased, and you looked so grave, and then I losl 


234 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


all liope in a moment, an 1 it was so dreadful to feel as if one 
could never be right again ! And I never felt as if I could or 
seemed to know bow ; but when I went to Mary, she always 
smiled at me still, and said she knew I was sorry, and wanted to 
do right again — and so I am sure I did, though I did not always 
know it till she told me ; and then she used to say it would 
soon be all bright again ; and when I looked at her, and heard 
her say so, I believed it, and then I tried, and she used to tell 
me what to do, and help me ; and then I was sure to get right 
again ; only you and papa did not know how. But now I don’t 
see any hope for me, I don’t know what will become of me.” 

“ Do you know who gave you your sweet sister to help you 
on your way ?” 

“ Yes, mamma, of course it was God.” 

“ And has God, your Heavenly Father, given you no better 
gift — one that still remains, one that death can never take away ?” 

“ Yes, mamma, I know that God has given us Jesus Christ, 
and that He helps me when I pray to Him, I know that, mam- 
ma ; but then I can not see Him, or hear him speak to me, as I 
could Mary.” 

“ You have not seen Him yet perhaps, dear Herbert, but you 
may see Him. He can and he does show Himself as clearly to 
the eye of the spirits of His children sometimes, as earthly ob- 
jects are seen by the eye of the body : and he speaks as distinct- 
ly to their hearts as earthly voices to the ear.” 

M But would Jesus smile on me, mamma, when I get wrong, 
and am in trouble for it, as Mary used to do ?” 

“ O yes, he would ! Whatever may have been your fault, if 
you only turn to Him you will find His tenderness the same : if 
you only look up to Him the moment you see His face you 
will see the smile of forgiveness and love upon it. His lov6, 
my child, is more than a mother’s j and what His tenderness 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


236 


leads you to hope, His power can enable you to accomplish— 
He can work in you both to will and to do according to His 
own good pleasure.” 

Herbert lay silent, thinking on his mother’s words, and she 
had gathered strength from speaking of Him who is the Life, to 
speak of her whom death had taken, and went on to say to her 
listening child, “ It was so with Mary, she lived always in the 
presence of God her Saviour, always able to look up to Him 
and see His face at any moment, she lived in the sense of His 
love, it was her greatest joy to try in all she did to please Him, 
by doing His holy will — this made her life so happy, and so 
blessed !” 

Then Herbert said, “ I will try mamma, and do as Mary did 
Shall I read you a chapter from the Bible now 1” 

“ Yes, dear Herbert, that will help us both to do that of which 
we have been speaking — even to walk in the light of God’s 
countenance.” So Herbert read to his mother, and the words 
of Heavenly Truth and Love lightened the sadness of their 
hearts — as the rising sun illumines the mist that hides the 
Heavens from our earthly view. 

Days passed away, and Herbert returned to his studies ; but 
the paleness did not pass from his cheek, nor the sadness from 
his brow : he had not mounted Araby, nor taken a single walk 
by himself since the day that saw him bereft of his sister. He 
was sitting one morning in the window of his father’s study 
with a lesson-book before him, but his eyes were far away on 
the park’s green slopes, where the deer were feeding. His 
father came in, and, going up to him, laid his hand upon the 
boy’s dark clustering curls, but silently, as if he feared to wake 
into expression the saddened thought so plainly written on his 
face. Herbert looked up, then, after a minute’s silence, said, 
u Papa, sha/1 I tell you what I was thinking 


230 


MINISTERINO CHILDREN. 


u Yes, my boy, wbat was it V 9 

u I was thinking that I wished Snowflake might be unshod 
and turned into the park, to live always there, and no one ever 
ride her again ; she would look so beautiful under the greeD 
trees ! I am sure she has done good enough to rest all her life 
now, and I could not bear to see her led up for any one else to 
mount.” 

“ No, perhaps none of us could bear that ; but how would it 
be if I had a new pony-carriage for your mamma, and you drove 
Snowflake and the groom’s pony in it ? and then we could keep 
David on, and have a seat behind the carriage for him, to save 
your mother’s fears ?” 

“ O yes, papa, I should like that ! I had not been into the 
stables till to-day, and David took the cloth off Snowflake, she 
looked as beautiful as possible, and turned her bright eye round 
on me, only she looked so sad ! I am sure she knows, papa — 
any one who saw her would think so too ! David said that at 
first he felt as if he could not bear the place, but now he feels as 
if he could do any thing to stay. May I tell him what you 
mean to do, papa ? I know he will be so glad !” 

“ Yes, if your mother does not object. Jenks can try Snow- 
flake alone in the pony-chair, I know he broke her in first to 
that !” 

“ Yes, papa, and then I can drive mamma out first with 
Snowflake alone, till the new carriage comes.” And Herbert 
rose up with more of purpose and energy than he had felt since- 
the day that the stroke of bereavement had first fallen on him 
Mrs. Clifford made no objection, any personal fear being over- 
come by the sense of the new interest for her child. David met 
the proposal still to stay as groom very gratefully ; and Jenks 
said, “ You could not put the creature to the thing she would 
not do if she had the power !” So it was finally settled, that 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


23l 


after one or two days’ trial b) Jenks, Herbert should drive his 
mother with Snowflake in the pony-chair, till the new carriage 
could be bought 

The day arrived when Herbert was, for the first time, to 
drive his mother out. Old Jenks led up the pony-chair with 
Snowflake harnessed in it ; she did not stand with arching neck 
and pawing step, but sorrowfully with head hung down, as if 
she knew the hand and voice she loved, would not be now 
awaiting her. Herbert felt all the responsibility of his new 
privilege ; and some unexpressed anxiety that all should be 
prosperous in this his first attempt to drive his mother, helped 
to check his feeling at sight of Snowflake. Mrs. Clifford also 
was not free from nervous apprehension, never really considering 
herself safe except when old Jenks was her charioteer — she had 
only yielded to the proposal for the sake of the interest to Her- 
bert ; and now her feeling also at sight of the snow-white creature 
was lessened by a sense of personal apprehension : she took her 
seat, and Herbert his, by her side, and Snowflake gently trotted 
from the door. There were only three roads by which to leave 
the Hall for a drive ; one was the direct way to the town, and 
led past old Willy’s cottage ; Herbert had not yet summoned 
courage to see old Willy, though the old man had been many 
times up to the Hall to inquire for him since the day he had 
seen “ the blessed child,” as he called him, fall beside the grave ; 
therefore Herbert would not go that way, because of passing his 
cottage. Another road led up the steep hill-side to the church, 
past the churchyard gate, and then round by farmer Smith’s, a 
longer way to the town ; that could not be ventured on ; so Her- 
bert drove out by the gamekeeper’s lodge, and took a long 
winding shady lane that led round by the back of the park. 
Snowflake trotted swiftly and smoothly along; but gentle as 
the creature was known to be, Mrs. Clifford was still on the 


238 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


watch for fear of some mischance. On they went beneath the 
sheltering trees, when, drawing near a lonely cottage, Snowflake 
suddenly quickened her pace and drew up at the door. 

“ What is the matter ?” exclaimed Mrs. Clifford. While she 
spoke, Herbert touched Snowflake with the whip ; but all the 
advance that was gained was a few steps to a little window of 
one pane, rather high up in the wall — a window that opened 
with a push from within or from without, directly underneath 
which Snowflake took a determined stand. Herbert gave her 
a harder stroke ; she shook her silver mane at the unwonted 
indignity, but did not move a step. Herbert’s color mounted 
to his cheek, and Mrs. Clifford exclaimed, “ Take care, Herbert, 
something will certainly happen !” But at that instant the door 
opened, and out came a neatly-dressed woman, courtesying, as 
if to expected guests. 

“ Do go to the creature’s head while we get out !” said Mrs. 
Clifford. The woman obeyed, and Herbert sprang down and 
handed out his mother. 

“ Something is wrong,” said Mrs. Clifford, as she stood on the 
door-step ; “ the creature will not move !” 

“ 0 dear me, no, ma’am, the pretty dear is always used to stop 
here ; I don’t know I have ever seen it pass by without !” 

“ What for ?” asked Mrs. Clifford. 

“ Why, you see, ma’am, my poor old mother is blind and bed 
ridden, and that sweet lady that ’s gone was the very light of 
her life, and I never saw her so much as pass by once ! She 
used to get off at this door-step, and the pretty creature knew 
it as well, and would never have wanted the telling ; and if she 
was all in a hurry for time, as she would be sometimes, why 
then she just rode up to that little window — it goes open with a 
shove, and i L , ’s just above my old mother’s bed, and there she 
would speak a cheery word to her, and then be off again ; and, 


MINISTERING CHILDREN, 


239 


dear me, how that word would lift up my poor mother’s spirits ! 
She used to say, the very sound of her voice was like Heaven’s 
music to her, sent to comfort her up in her darkness ! So that 
is all the meaning of the pretty creature’s holding to it so !” 

The sudden alarm Mrs. Clifford had taken, and now the sud- 
den disclosure of the cause, were too much for her ; she 
stepped into the cottage, and, sitting down, leaned her face upon 
her hand, and wept. Herbert threw his arms round Snowflake, 
partly to hide his tears, and partly to atone for the stroke of 
the whip he had made her feel. The poor woman waited beside 
Mrs. Clifford in distress to know what to do, then hastened and 
brought her water in a glass. 

Mrs. Clifford soon recovered self-possession, and turning to the 
poor woman, said, M I will see your mother.” The woman 
hastened into the inner room, and smoothing the bed-clothes,, 
whispered, “ Here ’s Madam herself from the Hall ! the pretty 
creature would not stir a step, and Madam is wholly overcome !” 
Then, hastening back again, she took Mrs. Clifford in. Mrs. 
Clifford went to the bed, took the old woman’s hand in hers, 
and sat down, but vain were all attempts to speak. The poor 
old woman felt her silent grief, but while the big tears from her 
sightless eyes rolled down her cheek, she said, “ Oh ! my lady ! 
this world is the place for weeping, but the blessed dear is gone 
to Him who wipes all tears away ! Don’t I see her with my 
sightless eyes, shining as blight as the morning’s ray up above 
in the holy Heaven ? and don’t it lighten me up, as the sound 
of her tongue did here ! I never thought to hear her horse’s 
feet ring down the lane again ; and now that you should come ! 
’tis a wonderful condescension and lifts me up — that it does.” 

“ I will come and see you often !” replied Mrs. Clifford, and 
she rose, strengthened by the old woman’s vision of faith, but 
rmable to say more, pressed her hand, and left the cottage. 


24C 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


It was the first visit Mrs. Clifford had ever paid to tlie poor 
and needy. The deep feeling and touching expression, and 
unassuming attention, the bright faith beholding what her owu 
faith had not realized — all these surprised her with their charm * 
that brief visit had planted in her heart the seed of a personal 
interest in the poor ; she fe ] t too the peace of having shed com- 
fort on another, and she stepped from the cottage door, unwill- 
ing so soon to leave the spot, yet feeling unable then to stay. 
The fear too of safety with Snowflake seemed lost in the deeper 
impressions now awakened, and a creature who could so follow 
the track of its departed mistress’s steps of love, was surely 
worthy of confidence, so Mrs. Clifford took her seat by Herbert’s 
side, and ceased to look out for occasions of mischance. 

On through the summer lanes they drove, and the sweet air 
relieved the oppression of feeling. The drive was a lonely one, 
farm-houses and cottages stood right and left among the fields, 
but none by the road-side, till at the foot of a hill, sideways 
from the winding lane, they saw a cottage : a little boy stood 
beside the wicket-gate, clad in a coarse round pinafore, his little 
cap, crushed up in his hand, left his fair curls uncovered, and 
his smiling eyes of blue looked down the winding lane as if 
with listening expectation. 

The boy was Rose’s little friend, Johnnie Lambert, the widow 
Lambert’s only child. Quick as thought, the listening boy at 
sight of Snowflake darted into the cottage, calling, “ Mother l 
mother ! the lady’s coming !” then back he ran to the wicket- 
gate, while the mother looked from the door. 

“ Stop and let us speak to that child,” said Mrs. Clifford, for 
she saw the white pony was well known to the boy. 

The child made his deliberate and never-forgotten bow, and 
then raised his bright face as if to meet the look of some loved 
familiar friend, but instantly the blank of disappointed hope 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


241 




chased his glad smile away, and running to the pony’s head, he 
sheltered himself there. 

Seeing the pony stopping at the gate, the mother stepped out 
and court esied low. 

u Your little boy knows the pony ?” said Mrs. Clifford. 

“Yes, ma’am, — Johnnie, come here and make your bow to 
the lady !” but Johnnie was giving his tears to Snowflake. “ He 
takes on, ma’am, so about the dear young lady that ’s better off, 
he is always watching for her, and I can’t make him sensible 
that she is gone ! he ran in just now, for he thought it was her 
when he got sight of the pony.” 

“ Was she often here ?” asked Mrs. Clifford. 

“ 0 yes, that she was ! All the time my poor husband kept 
about, she used to come and read to him — for he could not read 
a word, and I never saw a man so changed ! he suffered a 
wonderful deal, for his complaint lay in the head, and nothing 
could ease it, and he lost all his spirits, and was always fretting 
to live and get well ; but when she had showed him the way 
to Heaven — all plain for him to walk in, and showed him how 
his Saviour called him to come unto Him ! he seemed to think 
of nothing else, it was wholly a pleasure instead of a misery to 
see him !” 

“ Has he been long dead ?” asked Mrs. Clifford. 

“ Over two years, ma’am ; but to me it seems all as fresh as 
yesterday ! He lay six weeks in his bed, and all that time he 
never saw the dear young lady, only she used to send and in- 
quire for him, but he seemed past the want of her then, though 
before when he was about he would sit all day long and watch 
for her coming by, but when he took to his bed, and she could 
not come, he seemed to be hanging only on his Saviour. I 
have heard him say when I sat by his bed, “ Oh ! I see Him ! I 
see Him !' and then he would let me leave him and get my 

11 


242 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


night’s rest — though he could not sleep a wink for pam, but it 
seemed as if Heaven had opened above him. Oh, it was a 
wonderful change ! he said the dear young lady’s words had 
been life from the dead to him !” 

Herbert had slipped out of the carriage unperceived by hie 
mother, and now standing with the reins in his hand, was trying 
to comfort the child, but he could not get him to speak, only 
to take a shy look at him now and then. 

u Poor dear !” said the mother, looking round, “ it puts me so 
in mind of his father to see how he listens for the creature’s 
feet, the dear young lady took wonderful notice of him ! he can 
say many a thing she taught him, only he ’s shy. When I ask 
him where his poor father is, he will point up to the sky, and 
say, ‘ With God !’ but I can’t make him sensible that the dear 
young lady won’t come down the lane again !” _ 

“ Tell him that we will come again !” said Mrs. Clifford — with 
an effort to retain composure : and Herbert, hearing this assur- 
ance, took his seat, and they drove on — watched out of sight by 
the widow and her oiphan boy. 

But now it was necessary to decide which way to return — 
either back through the lanes, and so to risk another halt at the 
blind widow’s door ; or past the churchyard gate ; or by old 
Willy’s cottage. Herbert preferred the last — as best of the 
three, and before they reached the old man’s dwelling, they saw 
him in the distance, advancing slowly on the road toward them. 

“ There is old Willy himself !” said Herbert. 

“ Ho not pass him by,” replied Mrs. Clifford, “ stop and speak 
to him.” 

The old man stood some minutes beside the little carriage, 
his white head uncovered — the very picture of beautiful old 
age ! Mrs. Clifford talked to him, and with true feeling the 
old man made no reference to the one of whom each heart 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


243 


was full, liis feeling only struggled through in silent tears ; he 
had changed away his week-day garment for an old coat of 
black, and in this, and a band of crape about his hat, wore the 
signs of mourning for her who had been more than child to him. 
At parting, Mrs. Clifford said, “ I shall come and see you with 
my son.” 

“ A thousand thanks,” replied old Willy, as he bowed low to 
the lady, but his look of love turned full and rested on Herbert. 

“ Yes, I shall soon come, Willy, very soon, and mamma too !” 
added Herbert greatly relieved at the thought of the first sight 
of his aged friend being over. 

And so they returned to the Hall ; both had passed through 
much to try them in that morning ride, but not less to soothe 
and elevate. The mother and son felt as if they had that 
day entered on their sweet Mary’s path of love and service, and 
they longed to follow her steps in all. Herbert now often drove 
his mother out, all fear of Snowflake was gone, the creature was 
allowed to stop at pleasure ; and when a visit could not be 
made, some kindly word was spoken, till in every dwelling 
where her child had shed the light of hope, and the peace of 
comfort, or the aid of knowledge, Mrs. Clifford followed her, 
gathering the blessed recompense that even the most aching 
heart must find in keeping God’s commandments — watered her- 
self with Heavenly consolation in watering others. While in 
Herbert’s young heart — so trained and disciplined, earth daily 
gathered more of Heaven ; and a depth of feeling and a power 
of thought and action beyond his years, enriched his life with 
personal and relative happiness. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


*■ Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” — Galatians vi. 2 

fTlHE summer months left Patience in the workhouse restored 
to health. And now another place of service must be found 
for her ; the workhouse made the choice, and we shall find what 
it was. Patience took leave of her workhouse home with a 
sorrowful heart ; and a heavy dread came over her as she drew 
near the place to which she was now engaged. It was a small 
house, a short distance out of the town ; and when Patience 
went in, she saw so many children crowded together in one 
small kitchen, that she supposed it to be an infant school ! But 
no, it was a family of ten children, the youngest a baby of some 
few weeks, the next just able to step alone, the third a helpless 
little cripple, the fourth a rosy-faced girl of about five years of 
age, then twin-boys of seven, who, with the four elder boys 
and girls, went to a day-school. The mother was busy at the 
washing tub, and the children were all sitting and standing 
about, the elder one» home from their afternoon school ; but 
when Patience came in, they all with one consent looked round 
on her. 

This was now to be the place of service Patience was to fill — 
maid-of-all-work in the family of the foreman in Mr. Mansfield’s 
shop — there were ten children, and all the washing done at 
home ! It sounds like heavy work, but we must not, like old 
nurse Brame, be led by sound alone ] and we may always 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


245 


remember that work proving bard or pleasant depends far more 
upon the minds of those who rule, and those who serve, than 
upon the amount of labor to be done. Robert, the eldest boy, 
had opened the door, and then run back to his mother to say 
the new girl was there. “ Bring her in then,” said the mother ; 
so in came Patience, still pale and timid, with her small bundle 
in her hand. “ Come in, come in and see us all at once !” said 
the mother and mistress, without so much as making a mo- 
ment’s stop in her washing. Then, looking hard at Patience 
in the firelight, she added, M What ’s that all the show you have 
to make of strength ! Well, if you are killed with hard work 
that will lie at your master’s door, for it was he hired you, not 
I, remember that ! Here ’s plenty of work — and plenty of play 
too, so don’t be frightened ! There, Betsy, you go and show 
the girl where to put her bonnet and shawl and her bundle, and 
then don’t lose a minute, but come and be after tea.” Betsy did 
as she was desired, and quickly returned with Patience to the 
kitchen. The early autumn evening was damp and cold, and 
when Patience returned to the family party, preparations for tea 
were beginning. The little parlor opened into the small kit- 
chen, and Robert, the eldest boy, was kneeling down before the 
parlor-stove, blowing up the flame he had just lighted. Polly, 
the second girl, was setting out the tea-things ; and the moment 
Betsy returned, she began to take her part in fetching out the 
bread and butter and cheese, together with a large round cake, 
whose only claim to the designation consisted in a few scattered 
currants — more thought of because so far apart that each one 
became a definite object, and this so-called plum-cake, with its 
scanty sweetening of sugar, was much more approved by the 
little group of children than slices of bread and butter. Patience 
had not been five minutes in the house, but on no account was 
she to stand idle. “ What ’s your name, child ?” inquired the 


246 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


mother, still wringing out the wet clothes, and depositing them, 
one by one, in a large white basket. “ Patience !” replied the 
new little servant. 

“ Patience ? Well, I have heard worse names than that 1 
You may be sure you will have plenty need of patience here, 
though there is no hardship for all that ! I hope you have an 
apron ?” 

“ Yes, in my bundle,” replied Patience. 

“Have it on then, as fast as you can!” And up stairs 
Patience ran with a light quick step, there was something so 
animating in the universal stir below stairs, that she longed to 
be one among them all again, and in two minutes’ time she 
stood aproned before her mistress. 

“ Now take that wide shovel and gather up all those cinders 
by the grate here, and put them every one on the parlor fire.” 
So Patience gathered up the cinders, and laid them on the top 
of the knobs of coal, among which the cheerful blaze began to 
ascend. “ Now take the kettle and fill it at the tap there, and 
set it on this fire to boil,” said her mistress. Meanwhile, Robert 
had been out and shut the shutter ; Betsy had drawn the chintz 
curtain within ; Polly had lighted one solitary candle and set it 
in the middle of the tea-table ; the mother had wrung out the 
last little garment — and the whole collection lay piled in the 
large white basket ; the water was poured from the washing- 
tub, the tub set up, the stool on which it stood put aside, the 
whole kitchen then looked in perfect order, the mother drew 
down her sleeves, changed her coarse blue apron for a white 
one, and in they all went to tea. The baby sleeping in its 
cradle had waked up some minutes before ; but Betsy had lifted 
it out and rocked it in her arms, till the mother, seated in the 
low black chair beside the parlor-fire, received it. The chil- 
dren dragged out their stools and chairs, Jttle Esther, the child 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


24 ? 


of five years — not having yet learned the division of labor, 
pulled hard at a parlor chair for herself with one hand, and at 
the poor little cripple’s high chair with the other. Patience 
caught sight, amid the active group, of little Esther’s attempt, 
and, running up to her, reached over her head, and laying hoi 1 
of both chairs pulled gently also, when, to the child’s perfect 
satisfaction, both chairs moved slowly and steadily to the table. 
Esther would by no means leave her hold till the chairs were 
drawn quite close, so Patience slipped behind them and pushed, 
till the little Esther, stooping half under the table, peeped up 
with a grave look, and suffered Patience to lift her into the 
parlor chair, gravely observing, “ I did pull two chair 1” And 
through the heart of Patience passed a warm feeling for the 
child ; and a sense of active life, with its native charm of cheer- 
ful energy, rose still more freshly within her at this first success- 
ful aid rendered to the child. And now Betsy placed the little 
cripple in his chair, and Esther looked up at Betsy, repeating, 
“ I did pull two chair !” and Betsy said, “ Good Esther !” ar.d 
hastened away to fix up the next baby of eighteen months old. 
Now there was one small blue plate set down between Esther 
and the little cripple ; Esther put her hand upon it by way of 
claim, but did not take it nearer, then the little cripple reached 
out his hand and said, “ Me ! Me !” Esther shook her head, for 
it was hard to give up the plate that was the earnest to her of 
rood, but Patience, whose attention was all alive, caught sight 
of the difficulty, and put another blue plate close before Esther, 
who then pushed the other gently to her little brother, and 
looking up at Patience, said, M I did give it him !” 

All the little ones being seated, Betsy cut the bread and but- 
ter, Robert a piece of cake for each, Polly filled the mugs half 
full of water, and poured water into the tea-pot for the tea, while 
oil the little ones looked on. This divided labor was quickly 


248 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


accomplished, after which the mother stood up with her babe 
in her arms, the elder children stood also, and Robert asked the 
blessing — for at meals, when the father was away, this was 
always Robert’s office. Patience had a corner at the table, and 
made as hearty a meal as any of them : the good mother seeing 
her hesitate at first, took care to say, “ Come, Patience, girl, 
make haste, you have earned your tea, though you may not 
think it !” There was no riot at the meal — the children, trained 
to good ordgr, found no pleasure in confusion ; and having had 
no food since their early frugal dinner, their best amusement 
was to eat. All the play had come before tea, and now the 
moment it was over, and Robert had given thanks, while every 
little one was silent with clasped hands, Betsy and Polly took 
off the baby of eighteen months and the little cripple each in 
their arms to bed, and the mother bid Patience follow with 
Esther, who looked very grave, but quite willing to go with her 
helper of the tea-table. Patience found that Esther was to share 
her little bed, in a room just large enough to hold the bed and 
one chair. The little cripple and the baby of eighteen months 
were soon laid to their sleep, and Betsy went down with Polly 
to bring up the twin boys of seven. When Patience returned 
to the parlor, the tea-table was cleared of all that had been 
used, and what remained was set in order for the father’s return ; 
.he boys, having so arranged the table, were already at their 
tasks for school the next day, and the mother putting the infant 
to rest. Patience was set to wash up the tea-things in the 
back-kitchen ; while Betsy and Polly sat down to their lessons. 

The baby slept in the cradle ; and when Patience had finished 
washing up the tea-things, and had been shown where to 
put them away, her good mistress said, “ Now for your thimble, 
as quick as possible !” And Patience had a seat at the table, 
and one of the children’s socks given her to dam. But Patience 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


249 


was no darner, she had never been taught, for there are hut few 
schools in which any pains is taken tc teach children to mend, 
though to the children of the poor the skill to mend well is 
hardly less needful than to make. Poor Patience felt her 
spirits sink; she could not do the work, and now she thought 
her troubles would begin, and the timid child, only so lately 
warmed with the glow of kindness, dreaded a sharp word more 
than any thing ! But sharp words were not given in this her 
new abode without a needs be. The good mistress saw the 
color rise to the pale face of Patience over the sock ; so calling 
her to her, she said, “ I can see you are no match for your task , 
well, never mind, bring your stool here, and sit down and learn, 
there will be no time lost in the end by good learning in the 
beginning 1” So Patience took her seat by her mistress, and 
learned to darn, as little Jane had learned by her mother’s side, 
only that Patience, being much older, learned to darn a great 
deal quicker, and did not want so much attention as Jane had 
done. While Patience darned, the four children who were sit- 
ting round the table repeated their lessons to their mother. 
They had had tea at five o’clock, and all their lessons were learned 
and repeated by eight, except those of the youngest boy. The 
moment the clock struck eight the books were all put away, 
and the boy whose lessons were not learned, with a sorrowful 
face wished his mother “ Good night,” and went up to bed in 
the dark. This was done without a word being said, for it was 
the constant rule of the house ; if the school lessons were not 
learned from six to eight, no more time was given, as the les- 
sons were not hard or long, and learned in less time whenever 
the children were diligent ; and the mother’s principle was, nei- 
ther in work nor lessons to allow time to be wasted. Then the 
girls sat down to their work of mending or making, and Kobert 
to knitting — the boys being never idle when the girls were 


250 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


busy. Presently home came the father to their glad welcome ; 
he sat down to his tea and supper both in one, while the mother 
and the children worked and talked, and Patience darned her sock. 

As soon as the father’s supper was over, Patience cleared all 
the things into the back-kitchen, as directed ; the great Bible was 
put on the table, the children brought theirs, Patience was sent 
to fetch her’s — her own little Bible that Miss Wilson had takeu 
her in her first place of service ; and then father and mothei 
and children all read a chapter verse by verse, and Patience had 
to read with them : then the father questioned the children, 
and he questioned Patience also, and looked pleased with her 
answers ; and then they all knelt down, and the father offered 
up the evening prayer. After this, Robert and the girls went 
to bed. Patience washed up and put away the things from her 
master’s supper ; and then to her surprise she found her work 
was done ; in fact every body’s work was done, for all the house 
was in order, and Patience went up to her closet of a room 
where little Esther lay sleeping. With what a thankful heart 
did the orphan child offer up her evening thanksgiving and 
prayer ! and then taking her treasured half-crown — which she 
had kept through all her troubles and changes, she looked at it, 
and wished that beautiful lady could but see how happy she 
was now ! And she lay down to sleep — as if suddenly brought 
in the midst of a home’s bright circle of her own. 

The next morning her mistress called her at six o’clock, and 
to her mistress’s surprise Patience came out from her closet 
ready dressed. She kad heard her mistress rising, and had 
risen herself. 

“ Wha+, up and dressed !” said her mistress ; “ well, you mind 
my word, I never knew a bad servant an early riser ! Now 
then, we shall be at work before the girls to-day !” And the 
pleasant stir soon began below Patience had, as quick as time 


MINISTERING CH1LDLIEN. f'.fj 1 

itself, to light up the hack-kitchen fire ; then to brighten up 
and lay the parlor fire, while Betsy followed to sweep the 
room and dust the chairs ; and while the chairs were dusting, 
Polly set the breakfast. Robert was out in the little garden fix- 
ing the linen poles ; and Thomas the second boy, chopping 
wood and filling the coal-scuttle, while the good mother fried 
bacon for the father’s breakfast, and made the coffee. All as 
busy as possible, and all done by seven o’clock when the father 
came down , he had been reading his Bible in the midst of hia 
six sleeping children, and now he came down to breakfast with 
his four eldest. Patience also was called to the table, and so 
they sat down to the morning meal. Each child repeated a 
text from the Holy Bible, and the father asked Patience if she 
could remember one, and Patience repeated the words — “ I love 
them that love Me ; and those that seek Me early shall find 
Me.” After breakfast the father read a Psalm, then offered up 
the morning prayer, and hastened away to be at the shop by 
eight o’clock. Then Patience went up stairs with Betsy and 
Polly to dress the children — the mother prepared their break- 
fast ; Robert worked in the little garden, which had its Autumn 
as well as its Spring and Summer flowers ; but Thomas had to 
sit within and get his lessons perfect. At a quarter to nine, 
boys and girls were off to school ; the twin boys were taken to 
an infant school by their elder brothers on their way to their 
own school ; the poor little cripple played hour after hour on 
his sofa-bed with a doll : Esther talked to Patience and stepped 
about at her side, while the baby of eighteen months old some- 
times played on the floor and sometimes slept. At twelve 
o’clock the children all came home, when, to the surprise of 
Patience, the baby of eighteen months and the little cripple were 
put into a light wooden carriage, and all the children went out 
for a widk together — Robert and Betsy taking charge. Then 


252 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Patience and her mistress ironed away till one o’clock, when 
they all returned. Betsy and Polly made ready the little ones \ 
Robert and Thomas set the dinner-table, and all were seated 
with hungry appetite to eat the food provided for them. 

Day after day passed on, till Patience felt more like an elder 
child and sister than a servant in the house. Betsy and Polly 
confided to her their secret hopes : Betsy’s desire was to learn 
mantua-making, and be a lady’s maid — as her mother had been 
before her; and to this end her mother trained her. Polly 
meant to be kitchen maid first, and then cook, with the hope 
of being one day a housekeeper, and taking charge of stores — 
which seemed to her the most interesting of work ; accordingly 
every jar and bottle in the house was put under Polly’s keeping ; 
she gave out the daily supply, wrote the labels, tied down the 
jars, made some preserves in the summer-time, and took every 
opportunity of doing the cooking. Robert had a hope of being 
taken in Mr. Mansfield’s shop, where his father was foreman ; 
while Thomas had as yet no definite desire or prospect in life. 
Months passed away in this happy family, till all the paleness 
was gone from the cheek of Patience, and her figure, becoming 
stout and strong, seemed made for untiring work. She had 
taught Esther her own short morning and evening prayers — 
learned by her when at school, and the little girl now never 
lay down at night or rose up in the morning without offering 
them up. She had become a monthly subscriber to the Church 
Missionary Society — her master with his ten children was a 
subscriber ; the children would often earn or save some offering 
for it also ; and when Patience received her monthly wages, 
6he always paid sixpence for the same blessed object. A. year 
passed away, and Patience went to call on Miss Wilson, but. 
Miss Wilson did not know her — could not believe the change, 
till on talking with her she found this rosy, strong, active 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 25S 

looking girl, full of life and cheerful spirits, was the pale, thin, 
silent child, she had known so long at school. Patience told 
Miss Wilson of her happy life in her mistress’s house — with ten 
children, and she, maid-of-all-work, with all the washing done 
at home ; and how the little one who slept with her, had learned 
her prayer and said it night and morning, and how her master 
subscribed to the Church Missionary Society — and she subscribed 
also. And there, in the midst of life and cheerfulness, we leave 
Patience for the present. 

Rose had doue with school, happy at the thought of living 
always at home. It was not long, however, before her happiness 
met her first sorrow in the loss of Miss Clifford — she had stood 
between her father and William at the funeral, and in the long 
summer days she and little Mercy had cried together. The 
yellow harvest came ; and when the reapers’ work was done 
and the last sheaf carried, and William had stood aloft on the 
point of the high round stack with the last sheaf in his hand, 
before he laid it under his feet ; and the men in a circle round 
had sung the “ Harvest Home and the fields were left bare ; 
and the thresher’s flails sounded from the barn : then another 
sorrow came for little Rose — a sorrow for her home and for the 
farm. William had a good situation offered to him in a London 
shop. Farmer Smith’s brother was a London linen-draper; 
William had always been a favorite with his uncle, and now 
his uncle’s son had left the shop to follow a business he liked 
better, and the place of trust which he had held was offered to 
William, and a high salary was offered with it — for his unqle 
wished much to have him, and knowing William’s- love for the 
farm-work, he was afraid unless he made the offer very tempt- 
ing, that it would be declined. But it was not money that 
would have tempted William away from his father’s farm, if it 
hud not been for his father’s and his young brother’s sakes. Il 


254 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


was some years since farmer Smith had been able to lay by any 
profits : in one bad farming year be had been obliged to borrow 
money on some cottages built by his mother, and left to him by 
her ; he had been unable to pay the money or the interest 
upon it, and now the cottages were no longer his — they had 
become the property of the man who lent him the money — 
they had cleared him from debt, but he had nothing now beyond 
the yearly produce of his farm ; and one bad farming year 
might put him in difficulty again. William worked like a 
laborer on the farm, and was worth two other men, because 
his mind and his heart were in all he did ; but there were four 
younger boys, and farmer Smith knew not how he should pro- 
vide for them. If William went to London, it was not unlikely 
that he might find situations for some of his brothers there. 
So farmer Smith decided that William should go — with a heavy 
heart he decided that William should go. William felt as if all 
the outward joy of life would be darkened for him — away from 
his home and his father’s farm, shut up all day where fields were 
out of reach ; but he chose the higher pleasure of doing that 
which would be most likely to relieve his father and - aid his 
younger brothers. The boys thought it was a fine thing for 
William to go to London ! Rose tried to be as cheerful as she 
could, but Mrs. Smith never gave so much as one pleasant look, 
from the time that it was decided for William to go. 

Mr. Clifford was sitting alone in his study, when an impatient 
knock at his door roused him from his book. “ Come in !” he 
said, in a tone that seemed to guess the intruder. Herbert en- 
tered, out of breath with haste. 

“ Papa, what do you think I have just heard in the village ? — 
Young Smith is going off directly to a situation in London, to 
a shop, only think, papa ! I would not lose such a fellow as he 
is from the place for any thing, and I am sure he would not go 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


255 


ff b.e could help it ! don’t you think something could be done 
to prevent it, papa ?” 

“ We must first know whether his friends and himself would 
wish any thing to be done to hinder his going ; perhaps they 
may feel it to be to his future advantage to go, however sorry 
they may all be at present to lose him.” 

“ Well then, papa, suppose I just go down to the farm and 
hear ?” 

“ I think it would be wise to go and learn a little more what 
the facts of the case are, before you and I decide here what is 
to be done to prevent it !” 

“ Well then, papa, so I will, and I will come and tell you.” 

So the father suffered the boy to go in his warm impulse to 
the farm ; seated in the great farm-kitchen he gave full expres- 
sion to his thoughts and feelings on the subject ; Mrs. Smith, for 
the first time, heard opposition to the plan, equal to her own ; she 
brought the young Squire her home-made wine and cake, but 
he was too intent on his subject to partake of such hospitality ; 
farmer Smith talked the subject long over with him, and child 
as he was, told him the hopes he had built on his eldest son’s de- 
parture, as if he had been a long-trusted friend — a due recom- 
pense for the boy’s warm feeling ! Herbert returned to his father 
more than ever interested for the Smiths, and for William in par- 
ticular — but convinced that it would not be the thing to attempt 
to hinder the London plan. Deep in William’s heart sank the 
memory of the young Squire’s unwillingness to lose him from 
the place — the warm feeling that had been expressed soothed the 
pain he felt at going ; it cheered his father’s heart to think how 
his son was valued by those above him ; and even Mrs. Smith 
seemed softened into more gentleness on the subject, now she 
knew that her favorite William was not likely to be forgotten in 
his native village. Such the large results that oftentimes might 


256 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


follow — lasting on enduringly, from the spontaneous feeling and 
unchecked expression of childhood’s true appreciation ! When 
the autumn winds strewed the sere leaves upon the garden paths 
at the farm, there was no neat and careful William to sweep 
them away — the great and busy city had received him. 

Herbert’s tutor did not find in his pupil the love of books 
that he naturally desired in one whom he had undertaken to 
prepare for study at college, and he communicated to Mr. Clif- 
ford his anxiety and regret, that Herbert engaged by so many 
objects of interest, did not make the progress he could wish in 
his books. 

Mr. Clifford replied, “ It is very natural, and very right, that 
you should feel anxious on such a subject ; but we shall gam 
nothing by straining a point, no compulsion will implant the 
love of books ; and we have need to remember that books are 
but the scaffolding for erecting the mental structure. A mer6 
man of books is rather a read^-made collection of material, than 
a living influence. It is my belief that a circle of human life, 
gathered by sympathy’s natural tie around a child, exercising 
every good and self-denying feeling the young spirit has, is 
likely to rear and leave a far nobler character, far more excel- 
ling in power and influence, than the mere student of books. 
But I would not have you discouraged even as to Herbert’s 
book-learning — I find him an increasingly intelligent companion, 
awake to every subject I bring before him, his mind free and 
unburdened by the weight of mere acquirement. He is follow- 
ing on in the right order — things Heavenly before things 
earthly, the heart before the head 5 and though. I may not live 
to see it, I am not without the hope that he, who as a child has 
learned to minister with such self-devotion to age and poverty, 
may yet bring down his country’s blessing on his head.” 

The tutor pressed his patron’s hand and withdrew. 


CHAf TER X VIII 


“Hon, fttaiEMBER !” — L uke xvi. 25. 

\T7 HEN ihe next summer-time had come, filling the land with 
” beauty, and fragrance, and plenty — telling of His rich 
bounty who “ is kind to the unthankful and to the evil,” “ and 
sendeth rain on the just and the unjust,” a messenger arrived at 
the Hall, asking to speak with Mr. Herbert Clifford. 

“ I am come from Mr. Sturgeon, sir,” said the man ; “he is 
very ill — thought to be dying, and he begs you to pay him a 
visit as soon as possible.” 

Herbert went to his father. When Mr. Clifford heard the 
request, he said, “ Go, by all means.” Herbert sent word by the 
messenger that he would follow immediately, and was soon on 
his way to Mr. Sturgeon’s residence. Solemn thoughts filled 
his mind, he was sent for by a dying man — what could it be 
that Mr. Sturgeon wanted to see him for ? Perhaps he wished 
before he died to do something for old Willy ? — but old Willy 
bad all he wanted now ! 

Herbert arrived at the house, and one of Mr. Sturgeon’s sons 
look him up at once to his father’s room. The dying man 
looked at him, and said, “ I thank you, sir, for coming so soon. 
You ar£ the only person in all the world I wished to see, foT 
you, dear young sir, are the only one who ever came to me with 
the words of faithful warning. I don’t mean to blame my fel- 
low-men, I have heard the best of preachers and the best of 


258 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


discourses, but from all this I could — I did shield myself. Oh, 
why did none come to me with the pointed arrow of truth, and 
say to me personally — ‘ You are casting away eternal life ! — 
you are putting Earth before Heaven V You did come to 
me, you did warn me, and I wish to thank you for what 
might have been of eternal use to me if I had listened to your 
counsel.” 

Then Herbert took, not as before the smooth stone for his 
sling, but the balm of healing and life, from the Epistle of St. 
James — all of which he had learned by heart. “ It is written 
in the Bible,” said Herbert, “ ‘ The prayer of faith shall save the 
sick, and the Lord shall raise him up ; and if he have com- 
mitted sins they shall be forgiven him !’ ” 

Mr. Sturgeon seemed not to hear, or not to heed the words 
of peace. “ Oh, it is not the future, but the past,” he went on 
to say, “ that presses on my soul with its iron yoke- -wherever 
I turn I seem to hear a voice, and it says to me, “ Son, remem- 
ber ;” — it says no more, but in those words there seems destruc- 
tion. I do nothing but remember, and in remembrance there 
seems despair !” 

** But,” said Herbert, “ our Saviour said we were to remember 
Him — and that must be hope I” 

“ Yes, I know it — He said we were to remember Him ! and 
if I had remembered Him then, now I might have hope ; but 
I have lived to forget Him — I have forgotten Him in the very 
church, where I professed to worship Him — I have forgotten 
Him in secret, where I might have found Him and made Him 
my own forever — I have forgotten Him in business, where I 
have taken the opinions of man, and not the heart-searching law 
of Christ for my rule — I have forgotten Him in the world, 
where I have been more careful to honor myself than to show 
forth His praise — I have forgotten Him in my so-called charities, 























♦ 




































































































MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


259 


for I still dared to give in my own name that which but for the 
gain of oppression, might never have been mine — Yes, I have 
forgotten Him, and now He knows me not !” 

The dying man made no mention of old Willy ; he could 
take a just estimate of sin now, and the sin of forgetting God 
of thinking more of himself than of Him — the Lord of Glory 
— who died to open Heaven’s gate to sinners, swallowed up the 
sense of all beside. He had sinned against old Willy, sinned 
against man, it was true ; but the thought of this for a time 
was lost in the overpowering sense that he had sinned against 
Heaven, and before God. The dying man gave Herbert his 
hand, and said, “ Dear young sir ! I can say no more ; I wished 
to give you my thanks, and to tell you freely that you was right 
and I was wrong, and that ‘ the way of transgressors is hard !’ 
May you reap the fruit of that truth which you tried in vain to 
plant in my heart !” Herbert rode slowly and mournfully 
away. 

The road home lay past old Willy’s cottage ; and there in 
that warm summer afternoon, sat the old man on the bench 
beside his door, his hands resting on his staff, his broad-brimmed 
hat shading his eyes, and his head bowed in slumber , beside 
him bloomed the rose and honeysuckle — while over him hung 
the large leaves of the vine ; Herbert’s hand had planted them 
— meet emblems of the Earthly and the Heavenly love by which 
the old man’s life was blessed ! Herbert left his horse with the 
groom, and walked up the straight path to the cottage. 
Swiftly had he run up that same path at the head of the 
game-keeper’s boys, to rear up a blazing fire on old Willy’s 
hearth ; he had rushed up the same narrow path to shout the 
glad tidings to old Willy that the home of all his life was to 
be his dwelling still ; he had hastened with light foot, bearing 
the old man’s coat, his father’s Christmas gift : but now his step 


260 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


was slower, for it bore to old Willy’s side a heart oppressed with 
thought and feeling. Herbert felt as if he wanted to see the 
old man, to hear him speak, to hear him tell of Heaven and hia 
own bright hope, to dispel the gloom that had gathered round 
his spirit. Herbert went to old Willy, not now to give, but to 
receive. He stopped a little distance from the bench, unwilling 
to awake his aged friend ; he stopped and looked at him — his 
feeble, wasted frame, his white locks on his shoulders, his labor- 
worn hands ; and that green life and fragrant blossoming of 
nature round him — its bright freshness in strong contrast with 
his withered form. Herbert felt how he loved that lone and 
frail old man ; and as he felt how he loved him, he looked on 
the cottage his love had prepared — there rose the firm white 
walls, its close-fitting window and door, its warm and sheltering 
roof ; there lay the little garden before it, where plant, and herb, 
and tree seemed to grow rejoicingly out of the ground — pleas- 
ant to the eye, and good for the food of that old man : and then 
in the hush of that summer afternoon, a still small voice spoke 
within Herbert’s heart, and said, “ Inasmuch as ye have done it 
unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto 
Me !” Herbert looked up to the cloudless sky above his head, 
as if he thought to see Him whose words then spoke within him ; 
he looked up, and he felt that old Willy’s God and Saviour and 
his God and Saviour looked down in love on him, and the gloom 
and the weight were gone from his heart, and the light and the 
love of Heaven were there. Old Willy had slept in his young 
master’s moment of need, but the God of all such as old Willy 
never slumbereth or sleepeth, and He hath said, “ If thou draw 
out thy soul to the hungry, and satisfy the afflicted soul, then 
shall thy light rise in obscurity, and thy darkness as the noon- 
day!” 

Now Herbert felt as if he no longer needed to stay and 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


261 




apeak to old Willy, for Heavenly peace had come without ; 
and though he still felt solemnized and sad — for the sorrow 
he had witnessed of one who had lightly esteemed the Rock 
of our salvation, yet the chill and the gloom were gone, and 
his need supplied. But as he turned to go, old Willy raised 
his head, and seeing the young Squire turning away, he rose 
ns quickly as he could, and taking off his hat, said, “ I beg your 
pardon, sir !” 

“ What for ?” asked Herbert, as he turned again, and sitting 
down on the bench laid his hand on old Willy’s arm, making 
him sit down by his side. 

“ Ho you know, Willy, that Mr. Sturgeon is dying ?” 

“ Ho, sir ; sure ! not dying !” 

Yes, they think him dying ! and he sent for me, to tell me 
that I was right when I pleaded for you : but, O Willy, it was 
dreadful, for he has no hope, and I could not comfort him l” 

“ Well, master, ’tis better so, than if he had a false hope !” 

“ But nothing can be worse than no hope, Willy, and he has 
no hope !” 

“ Yes, master, ’tis better to feel it. If the true Hope be not 
there, ’tis better to have lost hold of every other ; for then maybe 
they will feel after the true Hope and find it : maybe they will 
look up to their Saviour from the very gate of death itself as the 
dying thief did. Oh what a look he cast upon the Lord ! — 
And that look found salvation in the Saviour for him, and he 
went into Paradise with the Son of God !” 

“ Then, Willy, you think Mr. Sturgeon may find hope in our 
Saviour even now ?” 

“ I pray God. he may !” replied old Willy fervently. 

“ Oh, I wish he might !” exclaimed Herbert. And then giving 
a smile to old Willy, in which love and hope struggled with his 
lingering sadness of expression he departed. 


262 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


The dying man passed away from Earth, and never could the 
boy, through life, forget the death-bed where the Saviour was 
not. 

The traces of bereavement and sorrow were marked most 
visibly in Mr. Clifford. The mother and the boy had felt theii 
loss no less, but a light had sprung up for them on every side, 
in the general service of love to which they had turned ; they 
had taken their departed Mary’s bright ministry, and the hearts 
that mourned for her now looked to them for comfort. Tc 
Mrs. Clifford the personal work was new, and its results 
charmed with the sweet surprise of a power to bless, compara- 
tively untried before. And then she was not companionless in 
the work ; her boy, her precious boy, once so wild and willful, 
was her ardent companion, and shared the new interest to the 
full ! But the father had lost the one, who, from life’s earliest 
childhood, had walked and rode by beside him, visited, studied, 
read with him ; he found but one thing able to soothe the 
aching void her absence left — that one thing the Word of God, 
that was his solace now, it took his lost one’s place. It soon 
became evident how high the fountain of eternal Truth rises 
above its purest streams, how deep the well-spring of eternal 
Love, compared with the most purified of earthly vessels. 
Continual converse with the Divine Word irradiated all his life 
with Heavenly Light — the “ conversation in Heaven,” the con- 
stant thought for others, the tone of deeper feeling, the calmer 
firmness even of censure, all bore witness of a drawing nearer 
to the Home of perfect Love and Truth, a rising now in spirit 
to breathe more of its pure atmosphere while still on Earth. 
But failing health denied him all active effort ; and his bowed 
form and feebler step told of Earth’s decay. Change of scene 
and climate were urged as the only hope of imparting new 
vigor. Mr. Clifford at first refused, but at last yielded tc Mrs. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


263 


Clifford’s anxiety a reluctant consent, and arrangements were 
made without delay for going that autumn to Italy. 

When Mr. Clifford had consented to leave his home for a 
foreign land, he sent for the aged Minister of the place, and re- 
ceiving him alone in his study, addressed him, saying, “ I have 
sent for you, dear sir, to say to you as a dying man, which I 
believe myself to be, what I ought long ago to have said to you 
in health. You were appointed to hold the Lantern of the 
Word of Life to this people, but you show them not its Light: 
you preach its moral precepts, but He in whose light alone any 
can see the light of Life you shew them not, and therefore all 
your teaching is dark and dead — unable to quicken one soul 
unto eternal Life, unable to guide one wanderer into the narrow 
war. I beseech you to consider what I say, for your own sake, 
and the sake of your people. And let me entreat you to pray 
earnestly that the Spirit of Christ — by whom alone He can bo 
revealed, may yet be given you to enlighten the eyes of your 
understanding, that you may yet know the sinner’s only true 
ground of confidence — Christ in you the hope of glory. Forgive 
me for speaking plainly ; alas ! I ought years ago to have warned 
you in faithfulness, as I do now ! I have also a request to make, 
I make it as the request of your dying patron — that you will 
allow me before I go to provide a curate to aid you in youi 
ministry here. I will furnish -you with his yearly salary. I will 
promise that he shall be one who will walk in all lowliness to- 
ward you and toward all men, one whom you may make a 
stay and comfort in your declining years ; but one also who will 
teach and preach Christ Jesus — that Saviour who bore my dying 
child through the valley of the shadow of death, causing the 
dark valley for her to glow with the glory of His presence — 
that Saviour, to whom I look in humble hope of His infinite 
mercy to bear and carry me — that Saviour, dear sir, whom you 


264 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


will need ; without whom there is no salvation — and it will be 
my earnest prayer that in hearing Him preached, you may be 
enabled to lay hold on the Hope set before you in the gospel.” 

The aged Minister did not refuse his Patron’s wish, did not 
refuse to hearken unto counsel : it sounded to him as a thrice- 
repeated warning — first heard in the sobs of his people who 
wept at their young teacher’s grave, then in old Willy’s simple 
words, and now from the lips of one who had always treated 
him with kindness and consideration. 

Before Mr. Clifford left, he assembled all his tenants and de- 
pendants to a dinner provided in his park. After the repast, the 
different groups were gathered in one, and Mr. Clifford came 
among them, his hand upon the shoulder of his boy, on whom 
he leaned : then uncovering his head, he said, in a voice dis- 
tinctly heard, “ My fiiends, I am going a long journey, and I 
wished to take my leave of you. I am not going by my own 
desire, for I would myself have chosen to abide the will of God 
here, whatever that may be ; but our own feelings must some- 
times yield to the judgment of others. I wished, before I left, to 
thank you for the affection you have manifested toward me and 
mine. In the earlier days of my residence among you some pain 
might have been spared to you and to me, if you had better 
understood my aims and wishes, and if I perhaps had had more 
skill and patience in making them' known to you. But we have 
now, I believe, lived long enough in connection to gain mutual 
confidence. If there be any among you who have any grievance 
past or present to complain of, I ask them, with all friendliness 
of feeling toward them, to come and state it to me before I go, 
that, God permitting, I may leave no thorn behind in any heart 
without- the prayerful effort to remove it thence. For all in 
which I have been wanting toward you, I ask your forgiveness 
in the sight of Heaven : and most of all, that I have not done 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


265 


more to teach you the good and the right way. I have desired 
you should know it, but I have made too little effort to aecom 
plish that desire ; I pray you seek ii for yourselves more 
earnestly than I have sought it for you, for the promise that 
they shall find the Lord and Giver of Life is given to none but 
those who seek with all their heart. One blessed child I had 
who lived and died among you, and I may safely say to you, 

1 Be ye followers of her, as she was of Christ.’ I commend 
my son to your prayers, that he may have grace from above to 
commend himself to your affections. And now, my friends, ‘ 1 
commend you to God, and to the Word of His grace, which is 
able to build you up, and to give you an inheritance among all 
them which are sanctified — through faith which is in Christ 
Jesus.’ ” 

Thus it was the Squire took his leave. One thing more he * 
did, and that was to see a white marble slab raised on the wall 
within the village church, where all the poor could see it, and 
on it was written his daughter’s name, and age, and place of 
residence, and this text, “ Remember ye not, that when 1 was 
with you, I told you these things ?” 

Herbert took leave of old Willy. “ Never mind, dear Willy !” 
said the boy with choking utterance, “ I shall come back again 
to take care of you ; I shall never forget you, and you will live 
here in quiet, and every body will be kind to you when they 
know I am gone !” And the old man blessed him,* weeping ! 
The family drove from the Hall — the road side lined with those 
who mourned their loss : they left their home for a foreign land. 
There, with the same devotion with which he had watched his 
dying sister, Herbert tended his dying parent ; and the natural 
impetuosity of his character deepened into quiet strength. Mr. 
Clifford lived six months abroad, and then he died. He said, 

“ f have not the same radiant sunbeam of faith that lighted my 

12 


260 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Mary’s steps through the valley of the shadow of death ; tut 
I have the peace of an assured hope that my Saviour hath loved 
me, and washed me from my sins in His own blood ; and that 
because He lives, I shall live also.” 

Mrs. Clifford felt unable to return to her home after this be- 
reavement ; she decided to remain abroad until the time when 
it would be necessary for Herbert to return for his studies at 
college. Herbert worked diligently with his tutor; but the 
Book he loved the best was his father’s Greek Testament — his 
father’s constant companion in the last years of his life, and his 
parting gift to Herbert. With this he would wander forth be- 
fore his mother’s time of rising, while the early morning glowed 
in rose and purple on the snowy mountain heights and the 
overhanging clouds, winding alone through the steep mountain- 
path ; or, when evening fell, seated in the Swiss peasant’s lowly 
chalet, reading of the “ Lamb of God who taketh away the sin 
of the world.” Then again in some boat of transport on lake or 
river, while his mother yielded herself to the calm influence of 
Earth and Sky, as they glided on between the blue water below 
and bluer Heaven above, Herbert with the same Book of Life 
— the same small Book his hand could cover, but whose span 
was infinite, and date eternal — with that wondrous Book, Her- 
bert would talk to the benighted sailors, or the traveling 
peasants, or not seldom to some company of Romish priests — 
winning the hearts of even those whose spiritual fetters he could 
not break, till sometimes the young priest would take his leave 
with his arms encircling the neck of his gentle, but dauntless 
opponent. Thus passed away Herbert’s early youth — while he 
gazed intently on the volume of Nature’s beauty ; the volume 
of man’s recorded thoughts ; and the volume of Divine Inspi- 
ration. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


i*iiTe religion and undefiled before God and tie Father ia this, To visit the fatlioi- 
lesa and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world." 

— James L 27. 

“ Why should we fear, youth’s draught of joy, 

If pure, would sparkle less ? 

Why should the cup the sooner cloy, 

( Which God hath deigned to bless ?” 

rPHE arrival of the curate in the village was a subject of great 
interest, and tended more than any other event probably 
could, to alleviate the sorrow felt on the departure of the Squire’s 
family. Many there were who went to church on the first Sun- 
day, in expectation and hope, and among these was little Rose ; 
her face gathered brightness when the prayers were read with 
fervent distinctness, but as the new minister preached, it became 
beaming with joy ; and no sooner had they passed the Church’s 
door, than Rose exclaimed, “ Oh, father ! that is just hko our 
Minister at school, that is exactly how he preached, Oh, I am so 
glad ! Did you not like that father ?” 

“ Yes, dear, I could sit all day to hear such words as those. 

1 thank God he is come in my time !” 

Mrs. Smith had hastened on before with a still quicker step 
than usual, and when Rose reached home with her father, her 
mother was already preparing the dinner. If Rose had looked 
at her mother’s face she would have seen no pleased expression 
there, but she was too full of delight to question the possibility 
of any one feeling different ; so she ran into the family kitchen, „ 


268 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


and exclaimed at once, “ Oh, mother ! was not that beautiful 
preaching ? That was just like our minister at school !” 

“ I am sure I don’t know,” replied Mrs. Smith ; “ it may be 
beautiful enough for some, but certainly not for me !” 

“ What ! did you not like it, mother ?” 

“ Like it, child ! I don’t know who would like to be told that 
when they had done their best, and lived respected as I have 
done, and always kept their church, that for all that they must 
turn and seek the same way to Heaven as the worst of sin- 
ners !” 

“ O, mother ! that is because Jesus our Saviour is the way, as 
the minister said in his text — ‘ No man cometh unto the Father 
but by Me.’ ” 

“ Well, child, I don’t know as to what the way may be, I only 
know I have lived a very different life from many, and I don’t 
choose to be mixed up with them, as if I were the same as 
they !” 

“ But, mother, it ’s because Jesus our Saviour is the only way 
to Heaven, and every one must come to Him who wants to go 
to Heaven ; and He can take all their sins away ! Miss Clifford 
said she wanted to come to Jesus our Saviour !” 

“Well, child, that might be, for Miss Clifford never did seem 
to consider herself above the lowest ; but for my part, I can’t 
come to that, but I don’t mean to talk about it, there is no need 
for you to change your mind, nor I mine !” Bose said no more, 
her sudden joy was dashed as suddenly with disappointment. 
From this time Mrs. Smith made a point of never going to 
church when she knew the curate was to preach ; her temper 
became more trying to all around her, and if it had not been 
for the comfort of the Sunday’s sermons, Rose and her father 
would have found it hard to keep up their spirits through the 
week. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


26G 


What was pain to Mrs. Smith was not only comfort to Rose 
and her father, it was also joy to old Willy. Twice on the 
Sabbath-day the old man climbed the hill, supported by his 
staff, and the glad sound was always new life to him. The 
weekly visits also of the curate were his delight ; but he always 
questioned him as to whether any tidings had been heard of his 
young master ; and he said it was a heart-affecting thing that 
he, an old man as he was, should live to see the young and 
good pass clear away like that — one taken up above, and the 
other into foreign parts ! But when at last a letter came to the 
curate, and a message in it to old Willy, written with Herbert’s 
own hand all those miles away, joy lighted up the old man’s 
eye, and he exclaimed. “ Who can tell, but I shall see him again 
before I die !” The faithful Jem seemed to consider old WTlly 
now as his peculiar charge, scarcely a day passed that he did 
not look in at the cottage. The little plot of garden-ground he 
took under his entire care — there, early and late, was heard 
his busy spade ; it was Jem who dug up and stowed under 
ground the bright red potatoes, to protect them from the snow ; 
Jem, who managed to buy the old man’s coals at less cost in 
the town, and brought them back in a return waggon of farmer 
Smith’s ; Jem, who, when the snow had melted, planted in the 
early vegetables ; tended the flowers as spring came on ; cut the 
garden hedge ; and trained the vine above the lattice-window ; 
in short, Jem, the old man said, tended him like a prince ! 
Little Mercy, too, would often step up to the cottage and find 
out work the old man wanted done ; when his sight was dim she 
would read to him; and sometimes she would take her knitting 
up ana sit ana sing to nim. Thus was old Willy tended still 
and comforted. 

A year and six months had passed away since William left 
his home, and he had not been down once to visit it. Hv 


1270 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


father had written in the autumn, and written again at Christ- 
mas, to ask him to come ; but William returned for answer that 
he could see no prospect yet of doing any thing for his brothers, 
nor therefore of returning himself to live at home ; and that 
till he did, he could not trust himself to come, for fear he 
should lose his resolution, and not return to his work in Lon- 
don any more. But he sent his love to his mother, and he still 
hoped to sow and reap again with his father for her ; his love 
to Joe and Samson, and he still hoped to make great men of 
them ; his love to Ted, and the first good berth he could find 
on board ship should be his — if he would learn well at school 
first ; his love to little Tim, and he would come home some day 
and teach him to plough, and till then Tim was to be sure and 
take care of Black Beauty ; and finally his love to Rose, and she 
must come up and see him in London ; and so, wishing a happy 
Christmas to them all, ended William’s second Christmas letter. 

When the Spring-time came, tidings arrived in the village of 
the death of the Squire, and the continued residence of his lady 
and her son abroad. The loss was much felt, for the Squire was 
greatly beloved ; and it was all the more felt because his affairs 
were left in such perfect order, that no tenant’s sense of the loss 
of a friend was turned into anxiety as to personal concerns ; ail 
felt a friend and counselor was gone, and felt it still the more, 
from the tokens of care for their interest and comfort which the 
communications received made evident. Old Willy mourned 
the loss, and doubted now that he should ever live to see his 
young master any more ! . 

The hay-time was scarcely over when an invitation came to 
Rose from her uncle in London to pay him a visit. Rose was 
much pleased with the thought of going to London ; but her 
chief joy was the prospect of seeing William. Mr. Smith’s 
brother m London, Mr. Samson Smith, lived in a country-house. 


MINISTERING- CHILDREN. 


271 


some few miles out of the great city. William met Rose at the 
inn where the coach stopped, and took her down to her uncle’s 
house. There seemed to Rose no end of streets or people, but 
she had tew thoughts tor them ; her joy at sight of her brother 
swallowed up all besides. Her uncle’s house was very differ- 
ent from her home ; there was a carpet all over the floor, 
paintings round the room, a pier-glass over the mantle-piece, 
and more than one sofa ! Her aunt and cousins were very kind 
to her as well as her uncle ; but Rose felt strange, and when 
William went away in the evening she could hardly keep from 
crying. But in a few days she was more at home ; and her 
aunt took Rose into London with her cousins, and showed her 
some of the sights that make the great city so famous — Rose 
saw the wild beasts ; she saw also the Tower, where, in days 
gone by, so many a noble prisoner heard the key turn that sepa- 
rated between him and ail he loved on earth forever. Rose saw 
the river with its forest of masts ; she saw the street again, and 
wondered how they could be all so full of people at once ; but 
she saw nothing like her own sweet woods and fields, no rippling 
stream, no shading trees, no free bird warbling praise ; and she 
began to think about the time when she would go home again 
She saw but little of William ; he could seldom get down, ex 
cept on Sundays, and then she could not talk much to him, 
before her aunt and cousins. 

Had the ministering child then nothing to do for othere away 
from her home ? O yes ! we have always something to do for 
others, and something to learn, wherever we may be. Rose 
tried to be useful to her aunt and cousins, but they were ail very 
happy, and did not seem really to want her ; her uncle was very 
kind to her, but he never seemed to want her ; the servants, too, 
were attentive to her, but they looked well and satisfied. Wil- 
liam could seldom come ; and Rose thought of her own villago 


272 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


far away — she knew tnat tnere were many who wanted hei 
there ; some of the poor old people wanted her, she knew ; and 
her father she knew must miss her sadly, and little Tim, and 
her mother also — and Rose felt she would rather be where she 
was really wanted, than seeing all the fine sights in the world. 
Was there no one, then, who wanted Rose where she was gone 
to stay ? You will hear. 

One day, in her aunt’s house, Rose heard a tale of sorrow. 
A poor man, a workman in a brewery near, had fallen into one 
of the great beer-vats, and been killed. He had left a wife and 
three little children, to live on Earth without him, and the poor 
woman’s heart was almost broken with her sorrow. A kind lady 
went round to collect a little money, that a mangle or some- 
thing might be bought for the poor widow to earn her bread, 
and Rose’s aunt gave some money to help. The next day Rose 
heard the servants talking about this same poor woman, so she 
asked the housemaid about her, and the housemaid said, 
“ While they are collecting this money the poor thing is almost 
dying of distress and want !” “ But don’t they go and see her, 

and take her some of it ?” asked Rose. “ No, they are keeping 
it all to do something to get her a living with ; and she is so 
distracted with grief no one likes to go and see her !” Rose said 
no more that day, but she thought in her heart that the love 
of Jesus could comfort any sorrow, and that if no one else 
would go, she ought to try and comfort the poor widow. So 
she asked the housemaid where the poor woman lived ; and 
the next time she was out alone, she had to pass the end of the 
little path that led up to her cottage. Rose thought it might be 
terrible to see such grief, but it must be worse to bear it and 
have no comforter, so she turned up the narrow pathway that 
led to the house ; she thought if she could not comfort her she 
could give her some money sh j had, that would buy her food 




\ 
























MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


273 


for a little while ; so she went. She knocked at the door, and 
some one said “ Come in !” Rose lifted the latch, and went in. 
There stood the poor widow looking very pale, as if she Lad 
cried for days and nights. 

“ I am so sorry for you,” said Rose, “ I came to see you !” The 
poor woman sat down, and wiped away her tears with hei 
apron ; and Rose sat by her and talked to her of Jesus, and the 
poor woman listened to all Rose had to say, and took what 
Rose had brought for her, and was as gentle as the ministering 
child herself. Then Rose went away, and she saw there was 
no need' to be afraid of sorrow when we go to it in the name 
of Jesus. It was the poor widow, with none to visit her, who 
wanted Rose. 

William had to go some distance on business for his uncle ; 
he was away several days, and when he returned,, the time had 
come for Rose to go back to her home. William came down 
quite early in the morning to take her into London to the 
coach ; and as soon as he was alone with Rose in the fly he 
said, “ Rose, I have a secret I will tell you, if you promise not 
to tell father, or mother, or any one, till I write about it ?” Rose 
promised not to tell, and William talked low and earnestly to 
her, and Rose listened, all anxiety, till the fly stopped at the inn. 
Then William put Rose into the coach, and as^he leaned on the 
door he said, “ Oh ! I would give all I have earned, to be going 
back with you, if it was only myself I had to think of!” And 
then charging Rose once more to keep the secret, the coach 
drove off, and Rose soon lost sight of William at the turning of 
the street, while full of joy she looked forward to her home. 
It was a long day’s journey , but when the coach stopped at the 
little village inn nearest to her home, to change horses, there 
stood her father, and the horse in the gig, waiting for her. Very 
joyful was the meeting between Rose and her father. “And 


274 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


what of poor Will ?” said her father, when Rose was seated bj 
his side in the gig, and they had started for home — “ what of 
poor Will ?” 

“ Oh ! lie wished so he could come with me !” replied Rosei 
“ I could not bear to leave him !” 

“ Poor boy !” said farmer Smith, “ I doubt we must have him 
home after all ; he will never settle, so far from the place.” 

“ No, father, he would not live in London always, for any 
money ! but he would not leave it now, I know, for he says he 
shall stay till he has worked out a way for the young ones — 
all except Tim, he says he never could part with Tim, and he 
knows that if he can only get back in time enough to teach 
Tim farming, that he will take to it better than any thing else, 
and I am sure Tim is more like William than any of them !” 

“ Well, I don’t know, I am sure,” said farmer Smith, “ but 
these are not times to settle boys out in a day, and I am sure I 
would not be the father to keep a son like him pining away 
from his home, seeking after what may never be found.” 

“ 0 father, Will does not pine up there ! Why, he is grown 
into such a man as you would never believe — and as busy as 
any thing. I wi^jb you could see him f and I know a secret, 
father, only I am not to tell you or any one, so you won’t say 
any thing, will you, father ?” 

Farmer Smith looked down anxiously on his child’s bright 
face, but she did not perceive the anxiety of the look ; she 
thought if the subject-matter of a secret was not revealed, the 
fact of its existence could only be an allowable communication 
of satisfying interest ; so she went on to say, “ It ’s only good, 
father ; and if it comes to be, then you, and mother, and all 
will know it ; but I promised Will not to tell !” And Rose 
thought she was only giving hope and pleasure by her intima- 
tion of the existence of a secret — for how should her inexpo 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


275 


rienced childhood understand a parent’s auxious question- 
ing ! 

Chestnut in the gig trotted swiftly along, and Rose soon gave 
a shout at sight of her home — with its white vine-covered walls, 
its sheltering barns and stacks ; and then the yard-boy driving 
Fillpail, and Cowslip, and Rosebud, and all their companions 
back from the milking to their pasture in the valley. And 
then her brothers caught sight of the gig, and ran out with 
their welcome, and little Tim came trotting after them ; and at 
the door stood her mother, in her afternoon gown of red-pat- 
terned print, and Rose thought how nice she looked ; and how 
fresh and sweet and clean all seemed, after the London suburbs 
and the dingy city she had left. 

When Rose was seated down after tea, her eager brother 
Joe and the little sprightly Ted, began their questioning, and 
Rose with no less animation replied. At last Joe said, “ Well, 
I suppose William begins to find out that there - is something 
better to be done, than walking backward and forward over 
a field after a plough all the days of one’s life !” 

“ 0, no !” exclaimed Rose, indignantly, “ he says there is 
nothing he counts on more than the day when he shall lace on 
his plough-boots again on father’s farm !” 

“ Poor boy ! poor boy !” said farmer Smith. “ I am sure 
there is nothing I count on like having him back again for 
good !” 

“ Why then did you ever let him go ?” asked Mrs. Smith. 
“You know it was all your doing. If I had had my way, he 
never should have set his foot in London ; by what I hear 
they have people enough, and too many up there as it is, and 
why we should be sending our best off to them — I never did, 
and 1 never shall see the reason of 1” 

tt Well, wife,” said Mr Smith sorrowfully “ it seemed as if it 


2*76 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


might be for the best in the end ; but I am sure I don’t know, 
and if we have not One above to order for us, I don’t know 
who is to tell what is for the best ! It ’s certain I thought 1 
should get over the loss of him better than I have.” 

“ I don’t suppose you thought about how you would get over 
it at all,” replied Mrs. Smith, “ it never was your way ; when 
you took a thing up you were for doing it — and then let the 
feeling come after as it might. I could have told you that you 
never would get over the loss of him, only you would not have 
minded it if I had !” 

Mr. Smith made no further remark during tea, and as soon 
as it was over he took his hat and went out into his farm, to 
relieve his burdened spirit with the freshness of the evening 
air. And while the boys made haste to help their mother 
clear the tea-table, Rose slipped away after her father, and 
with her hand in his soon dispersed the gloom that had 
gathered on his face. 

“ I wish enough,” said Joe that evening to Rose, “ that I had 
not said any thing about William at tea, mother always takes 
it up so, and then it vexes father ! I only know, I wish I could 
go to London too, for it is as dull as dullness always to be 
walking over the same fields, and see no one but the same ten 
heavy men all the days of one’s life. I am sure I can’t think 
how father can stand it, only I suppose he likes it. Did Wil- 
liam say any thing about me ?” 

Rose hesitated a little ; Joe’s quick eye turned instantly at 
her silence, and fixed upon her. “ He said,” replied Rose, “ that 
he was sure you would not like uncle’s shop any better than 
farming.” 

“ No, so I told him,” replied Joe. “ I don’t see any more 
spirit in laying up and taking down bales of goods, and cutting 
yards of stuffs, than in putting in turnips and then taking 


them out again, and cutting them up for the sheep — all over 
and o?er year after year ! what I should like, would be a mer- 
chant’s office, wnere some day I might travel, and not have 
nothing but what grows at one’s door to do with all the days 
of one’s life ! Did Will say any thing about that ?” 

“ He said,” replied Rose, “ that he would never give up trying 
after it, for he did not believe that, so much as you had read 
and thought about it, you would ever settle to any thing else.” 

“ What a good fellow he is !” said Joe, “ he always did seem 
to care as much about what one felt as one did one’s self — let it 
be the least thing in the world even ! If ever he makes a 
merchant of me he shall see what a memory I have for things 
I have heard him say, and what I will get hold of and do to 
please him ! I wish I was off, for there ’s no getting on here, 
all one tries to do seems to go for nothing, as to making any 
real difference. Juat think what it would be to work one’s 
way up there and buy this farm for father, instead of every 
now and then hearing it is likely to be sold over his head ; or 
pay the rent for him ; or any thing to keep off that harass that ’s 
always upon him ; but somehow there seems no getting on, 
and no spirit in any thing here !” 

“ O, Joe, the spirit is not in things, the spirit is in us ! I 
have heard William say that you may put spirit into any thing ! 
And he thinks there ’s nothing like farming for the pleasure of 
it.” 

“ Well, I am sure father says I do work well, but William 
said it was hard to settle to work you can not get a liking for.” 

“So I dare say it is,” replied Rose ; “ but only you try and be 
a comfort to father, and see if William does not soon find you 
something up in London !” 

Joe took the assurance of sympathy and comfort, and went 
the next morning, with fresh spirit to his work. 


278 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Rose was often seen looking out from door or window about 
the hour of ten, at which time the postman generally arrived, 
and when she saw him climbing the green ascent to her home, 
Bhe would run out to meet him and receive his store, but she 
still always returned with slower step — no letter from William 
was there ! At length one baking morning, when Rose was 
busy in ths back-kitchen making the harvest-cakes, farmer Smith 
called Mrs. Smith and Rose into the parlor, where he stood 
with an open letter in his hand ! The heart of Rose beat quick 
for she guessed that the secret had come at last ! Farmei 
Smith shut the parlor door, saying, “Here is a letter from 
Will, and no time to be lost in attending to it !” so saying, he 
read as follows • 

“ Dear Father, — 

“ I hope I have gathered my first sheaf, after pretty near 
a two years’ waiting for it ; but I have often and often thought 
how you used to say, when I wanted to be hasty in housing the 
crops, ‘ Waiting time is often the time that pays best in the 
end !’ Well, father, I told Rose a bit of a secret, but she pro- 
mised to keep it, so I may as well tell you and mother from 
the beginning. You know how Joe has always been bent on 
a merchant’s office ? I was so certain nothing else would con- 
tent him that I always kept that in my eye, but I never got so 
much as the least prospect, or chance of trying for him. Well, 
a week before Rose went home, I had to go a journey on busi- 
ness for my uncle ; there was an elderly gentleman seated by 
me outside the coach, and we had not gone far when a terrible 
thunder-shower came on. I had an umbrella, for I had seen a 
threatening of it; the old gentleman had none, and he was 
seated at the end just where the storm beat, so I said, ‘If you 
will please to change places, sir, I could shelter you better in 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


279 


the middle here.’ At that he looked up and said, ‘ I am sure 
you are very good to say so, but I have no right to expect 
shelter from you, and .an old man ought to be better provided 
against a storm than a young one, don’t you consider so ?’ 
‘ Well, sir,’ I said, ‘ I don’t know but what the young have 
quite as much reason to look out as the old !’ By this the old 
gentleman had changed his place, but he soon began to call 
out that I was getting his share of the storm ! ‘ I am no way 

afraid of that, sir,’ said I, ‘ I have been used to stand a shower 
all my days.’ ‘How is that?’ he asked. ‘Well, sir, I was 
brought up to the farming, and you can’t be a farmer and 
afraid of a shower ! but a soaking is dangerous sometimes, 
when you are not used to it.’ Then the old gentleman put nc 
end of questions to me, and I found he knew pretty well about 
farming himself ; he told me he was bom and brought up on 
a farm, and certainly he pleased me better than any one I had 
met all the time I have been in London — near enough now up - 
on two years. In all that time uncle Sampson has never asked 
me half so many questions about you, and the farm, and the 
boys, as that old gentleman did that day, and all as if he cared 
to know ! it did me more good than any talk I had had since 
I left home. The old gentleman gave me his card at the end 
of the journey, and told me to call on him as soon as I re- 
turned to London, for he was going to return the next day. I 
found by his card that he lived not very far from my uncle’s, 
and when I showed it to him, he told me that he knew him 
well by name, and that he was a man of excellent standing, a 
merchant in London. O, how I thought of Joe — and what if 
after all this should be the making of him ! I went down the 
very first evening to see him ; he seemed to be living alone by 
what I could make out, in a beautiful house, and certainly he 
was one of the pleasantest persons I ever spoke to he remem 


280 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


bered every word I bad told him, and there I sat, talking tc 
him, just as if I had been at home. Well, it so happened that 
Joe being so much on my mind, I had told all about him out- 
side the coach before ever I knew what the old gentleman was, 
and how glad I was to think I had, for I should not have liked 
to speak about it then, I could not have done it half so well. 
The old gentleman never said a word of what I was so full of 
hope about, and when I went away I thought all was over, for 
he only said he should hope to see me again some day. Well, 
two days ago what should come but a note from him to invite 
me to dine with him. And then he told me that he had called 
on my uncle, and satisfied himself as far as he could, that 
he was not venturing too much, and that he now offered me a 
situation in his office for my younger brother, provided he 
proved capable on trial. ‘ But,’ he said, ‘ my premium is 
a hundred pounds ; I require two hundred with the sons of 
gentlemen, and I have never taken any with less ; do you 
think your father can provide that sum?’ Well, I knew, 
let it be where it would in a merchant’s office, there must be a 
premium, and I would not for any thing have put a hinderance 
in the way, so I said, I hoped that might not be found to stand 
in the way of so excellent an offer. Then the old gentleman 
seemed satisfied ; and I should have been sorry not to give Joe 
as good a start as we could, and pay him regularly in ; and as 
I dare say the old gentleman knows my uncle is rich, it might 
have looked encroaching on the kindness of his offer, if I had 
made any difficulty. So now at last the thing is settled. But 
for the money — take my advice, father, and do not worry 
to think it over yourself, for I have thought it all over and over 
again, and there is but one way — and that way will soon do it, 
First, then, I have thirty pounds all ready at once, saved out 
of these two vears : then, to meet the rest there is but one 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


281 


thing to be done, Black Beauty must be sold ; don’t keep vex- 
ing about it ; but let it be done, and you will never repent it. 
I say the more because I know you will think most about me 
in selling him, but I have made up my mind, and it would 
hurt me a great deal more, to have any difficulty in Joe’s way 
with such an offer as this. Tell mother not to vex about the 
horse, I can rear her another such, some day, when I am your 
farming-man again ; he ought to fetch seventy pounds to say 
the least, but if you can not get that at hands likely to do well 
by him, then you can make up the rest without much difficulty, 
by selling off what remains of last year’s wheat. Let* me 
decide for you, father, as I think I best can in this case, because 
I know the value of the offer. You must have Joe and the 
money ready in a fortnight ; and then tell mother when I have 
seen Joe settled, I will come home for a holiday. My love to 
all, and good wishes to Joe. 

“ Your affectionate son, 

“ W illiam Smith. 

“ P. S. — At first I thought I would make an effort and ask my 
uncle to lend me the seventy pounds, but then I remembered 
what you have so often said to me — ‘ Bear any thing rather 
than borrow, Will !’ So I did not ask my uncle, and I dare 
say he supposes we can easily raise the money, for he never 
inquires much as to how farming stands.” 

“ O, father,” exclaimed Rose, “ that ’s the secret ! May I run 
and tell Joe ?” 

“ And what do you mean to do ?” asked Mrs. Smith of het 
husband. 

“ Well, I suppose we can’t do better than take William’s ad- 
vice ; these are no times to bring up five boys on one small 
farm, and Joe has no mind to the work.” 


282 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ I,” said Mrs. Smith, “ always found I must put my mind it 
my work, and then my work came to my mind, and I have 
trained Rose to the same ; but, as I always said, you must rule 
the boys ; only don’t let me see the horse led away — that is all 
I have to say !” and Mrs. Smith returned to the back-kitchen. 
Rose stayed by her father’s side ; what would he have done but 
for his little comforter ! “ Never mind, father, never mind,” she 

said. “ It ’s sure to be right if Will says so ; you know it 
always is !” 

“ Then you think it had better be as William says V asked 
the father of his little daughter. 

“ O yes, father ; Joe is bent on London, and William must 
know better up there — among so many people, than we do 
down here ; only mother never likes things different,, but she 
will be glad some day ! May I go and tell Joe now ?” 

“ Yes, if you like. Your mother’s taking things contrary, 
makes them a heavy burden. I am sure I am sorry enough 
foi the poor beast ; but it ’s better than borrowing !” and farmer 
Smith took his hat ; and Rose ran to look for Joe. She found 
him busy in the fields among the men; so calling him on 
one side, she told him all, except about the horse, by which 
it was to be obtained. Joe rushed to the house, wild with joy. 
The first person he found was his mother. 

“ O mother ! I am to be a merchant, after all ! William has 
found me a place in London !” 

“ Well, I can’t help it,” said Mrs. Smith. 

“ No, mother, I don’t want it helped ; it ’s the thing of all 
others I have most wished for !” 

“ And what is the use of never being satisfied in one place, 
till you are in another, I should like to know ?” asked Mrs. 
Smith. “ There ’s William always sighing after his home, and 
I dare say you will like London no better !” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


283 


u Why, mother, Will never did like it ; he always said it was 
only fbr us he went away ; but it ’s the very thing I have al- 
ways longed for, so I am sure to like it !” 

“ Well, I only hope it may be so !” replied Mrs. Smith ; and 
Joe went off to look for warmer sympathy in his father. He 
did not look in vain ; but after some conversation, farmer Smitl* 
said, “ I am sorry for the horse ; but it can not be helped !” 

“ What horse, father ?” 

“ Did not Rose tell you ? We must sell Black Beauty, to 
pay the premium.” 

“ Sell Black Beauty, father ! no, that you must not ; William 
would never bear the sight of me, if his horse had been sold to 
get me up there : I would sooner not go !” And the lad’s voice 
faltered with struggling feelings. 

“ Yes, but it is William himself who says so,” replied his father. 

u Does William say so ?” asked Joe. “ Well, I never thought 
he could have given up so much for me !” 

Now it happened that the old clergyman had long taken a 
great fancy to Black Beauty, as a fine horse for his hooded car- 
riage ; and he had more than once asked farmer Smith to let him 
know if ever he thought of parting with it ; so, acting on his son 
William’s advice, farmer Smith lost no time in calling on the 
Rector. The old clergyman seemed pleased with a prospect of 
possessing the horse, but said that he had fixed the price that he 
would give, namely fifty pounds, beyond which he would not 
go. Farmer Smith stated that the horse was worth more ; 
that he felt no doubt a dealer would give him more ; that it 
was only a sudden necessity he could not meet, compelled him 
to sell the horse, but that he greatly desired to secure a good 
master for him. Now the old clergyman was rich, and had nc 
children, but he made no inquiry as to why the horse had to be 
sold ; he pnly said, “ T have stated the price I will give, you must 


284 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


take it or not, as seems best to you.” Farmer Smith sat a few 
minutes in harassed thought ; he wished his little Ro^ had 
been at his side, to say one way or the otl er ; at last, feeling for 
the creature outweighed the hope of a larger price, and he re- 
plied, “ Well, sir, I would sooner let him go for less to a good 
master, than strain a point and get a bad one. The horse is 
worth full seventy pounds, but as I am driven to it by necessity, 
I will take the fifty for him, if you please, sir.” 

“ Very well,” said the old clergyman ; I gave fifty pounds for 
the best horse I ever had, and I never mean to give more, or I 
may probably get a worse.” So farmer Smith took the offer, 
and the horse was to be fetched away the next day ! 

It was late in the afternoon when the Rector’s coachman came 
for the horse. Ted saw him coming and gave the alarm, then 
ran off to the stable to give Black Beauty his last supper. 

Joe followed slowly, and Rose with him, trying to cheer him ; 
but he took his stand, pale and silent, within the stable, half 
concealed from view. Samson stood with great composure at 
the farm-yard gate, watching the approach of the man ; while 
little Tim, hearing from Molly what was about to happen, came 
running and crying as he ran, and lisping out his sobs, “ No, no, 
naughty man, Black Booty not go ; Will said, ‘ Tim, take care 
of Black Booty !’ ” Ted had filled a measure to the brim, and 
the high and gentle creature stooped his head to feed ; but when 
little Tim came sobbing in, the creature turned from its food, 
looked hard at the child, and then stooped down its face to him, 
as if to caress and soothe. 

Then farmer Smith ^nd the coachman entered. Farmer 
Smith looked on the group one moment in silent feeling almost 
as strong as his children’s, then stroking down his favorite’s silky 
mane, he said, “ There ’s the horse ; I give him to you in good 
condition, and a better horse you can not find.” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


285 


“ I am sorry for you sir,” said the coachman ; and farmei 
Smith left the stable, unable to stay and witness the scene. 

“You will let him get his supper first?” said Ted, look 
* n g u Pj an( i holding the measure afresh to Black Beauty’s 
head. 

“ Go, naughty man, go quite away,” said little Tim, “ Will 
shall be very angry with you !” And the horse turned from its 
food again to the child. 

“ Come now, Tim,” said Ted, “ you won’t let him have a bit 
of supper !” And Tim suffered Rose to compose and comfort 
him while Black Beauty eat his food, but the moment it was 
done and the halter was in the coachman’s hand, his grief 
broke forth again, while Ted, and Rose, and Joe, at that sight, 
no longer kept from tears. The man tried to make short work 
of it, and led the horse at once away, but the creature threw 
up his head, his eyes that had looked so mildly on the child 
grew fierce and snorting, he seemed to bid the stranger, defi- 
ance in his attempt to secure and lead him away. Then Joe 
looked up in blank distress, and said, “ It ’s of no use, he won’t 
go for you, a stranger never led him, give him to me, it ’s fit I 
should have to lead him away, for it’s all for me he has to go !” 
So Joe took the halter, the creature hung down his head and 
followed, and the children followed also — little Tim stamping 
with impotent distress. The heavy laden wagon coming in at 
the stack-yard gate stood still, and the men looked round to 
watch ; and the laborers, winding up the hill with their rakes 
upon their shoulders, turned to see the faithful creature go, and 
Molly and the yard-boy stood in view, and Mrs. Smith within 
the house kept up a more than usual stir, and Mr. Smith — no 
one knew where he was ! Rose soon stopped with little Tim ; 
but Ted ran on by the side of Joe, who led the horse to his new 
Btable, then the boys hung their arms round his neck and left 


286 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


him to his new abode : and long Black Beauty neighed in vain 
for the children’s hands to feed him ! 

“ Never mind, my boy,” said farmer Smith, as Joe turned away 
from his supper, “ you won’t trifle with a situation that has cos t 
us all so much !” 

“ What in the world is this ?” asked Mrs. Smith, as she packed 
her son Joe’s box for London. 

“ O, never mind, mother, just tuck it in any where !” 

“ But what in the world is it for ?” asked Mrs. Smith. 

“Well, mother, it’s only just the old bit of rope with which I 
led Black Beauty away ; he would not let the Rector’s man 
halter him or lead him out of the stable.” 

“And what can be the use of taking that?” asked Mrs. 
Smith. 

“ O, never mind, mother, only for fear that I should ever for- 
get that day !” 

“ Well, I am sure,” said Mrs. Smith, “ it ’s an odd fancy — to 
bold feeling by a bit of old rope ! but so it must be if you 
will.” 

Perhaps Mrs. Smith was really more capable of understand- 
ing Joe’s feelings than she showed signs of being ; but so it 
passed off, and Black Beauty’s old piece of rope was tucked in 
th6 corner of his box. And Joe went to London, and the mer 
chant was pleased with the lad, and the money was paid, and 
William took Joe to lodge with him, and when he had seen him 
comfortably settled, William went down to spend a fortnight in 
his home — to the comfort of all, and not least of little Tim. 
And Black Beauty drew the minister’s carriage. 


CHAPTER XX. 


“Warm’d underneath the Comforter’s safe wing, 

They spread th’ endearing warmth around.” 

“Putting on the breastplate of faith and love.”— 1 TnEsa. v. 8. 


IT7HILE these events had been passing in the village, little Jane 
* ’ had followed on her childhood’s path within the town : and 
the energy of growing thought, and the courage of deepening 
feeling, strengthened within her heart. Her sympathy for the 
poor grew with her growth — a sympathy inherited by birth from 
her parents, and constantly nourished by the atmosphere of hei 
home ; a respectful sympathy, a loving feeling of relationship 
a sense of some invisible tie existing between her and the poor 
which did not exist between her and the rich — even that most 
blessed bond, the power to aid and comfort ! 

There was a road which led out of the town, on the side 
nearest to Mr. Mansfield’s house, the road led up a long hill, 
and then crossed a wide heath ; this was a favorite walk with 
Jane and her little brothers, and here they used to run, and play 
with the snow, in the winter time, to which we have now come ; 
— while William and Joe were together in London, little Mercy 
and her uncle Jem tending old Willy, Herbert away in a foreign 
land, Rose busy in her home, and Black Beauty drawing the 
minister’s carriage. Thus on the fresh-blowing heath, Jane and 
her little brothers grew rosy with their play. There were scat* 
tered cottages and huts upon this open heath, and Jane often 


288 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


stopped in her play and looked at them, or passed them by with 
slower step — she felt that the poor were there ! But there was 
one hut that stood separated from any other, a mean abode it 
was, and with no look of comfort round it ; there was a pile of 
turf to lengthen out the smoldering fire, but no little stack of 
wood, no black and shining coal, no cheerful blaze within. No 
Herbert came and went that way ; no faithful Jem lived near ; 
but little Jane’s eye of thoughtful love — so early trained to 
watch where any want might rest — her eye of thoughtful love 
had marked the mean abode, and again and again she had look- 
ed, wondering who might live there. At last one wintery day, 
just as Jane passed by, the door opened, and an aged woman 
came out with a ragged cloth in her hand which she hung on 
a snowy bramble that grew beside the door ; the aged woman 
wore an old print gown, with a small black shawl pinned over 
her shoulders, and an old black bonnet on her head, her head 
shook with the palsy of age, and it was evident at first sight 
that she was old and poor — very old, and very poor. 

“ Look nurse,” said Jane, “ that poor old woman lives there I” 

“ Yes, I see,” said nurse. 

“ Do you think mamma knows that old woman ?” asked Jane. 

“ How can I tell !” replied nurse ; “ you don’t suppose your 
mamma knows every old woman for miles round the town ?” 

Nurse was walking at a quick pace with the little boys, and 
she called to Jane, who was lingering with her eyes still on the 
open eottage-door, to come on ; so Jane hastened on. As they 
returned, the aged woman stood outside her door again, putting 
out a few more ragged things to dry on the bushes in the win- 
tery wind. Jane watched her as she passed, but said no more 
to nurse. As soon as she was alone with her mother that day, 
she said, “ Mamma, what do you think ! I saw such a very 
old woman in such a very old cottage, she looked so cold, and 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


289 




her head shook, and she was hanging out some ragged 
things to dry, and I saw no fire inside ! Do you know her, 
mamma ?” 

“ Where did you see her ?” asked Mrs. Mansfield. 

“ Out on the heath, mamma, such a very old cottage — alone 
by itself! I am sure she is very poor, and she must be very 
cold.” 

“ I don’t think I know any thing of her,” replied Mrs. Mans- 
field ; “ but if you think she is so very old and poor, you shall 
take me to see her, and then we shall both know her.” 

“ O, mamma, will you let me 1 shall we go this afternoon ?” 

“ No, you could not walk so far twice in one day.” 

“ 0, yes, I could indeed, mamma, I am not at all tired !” 

“ No, we will wait till to-morrow, and then if the day is very 
fine, I will promise, if possible, to go with you.” 

“ Shall you do any thing to make her warm, mamma ?” 

“ Yes, if you like we will take her a coal-ticket, and then she 
will be able to have some coals.” 

“ 0, mamma, I am so glad ! I wish I could do something for 
her as well !” 

“ We will observe when we go, what she seems most to want, 
and then perhaps you can make it, and take it to her some day 
in your walk with nurse.” 

“Do you mean I may take it in, all alone by myself, 
mamma ?” 

“ Yes, if she seems a kind old woman, who would be pleased 
to have a little visitor.” 

“ Are not all poor people kind, then, mamma ?” 

* No, dear Jane, not all ; an evil heart within them makes 
some poor people unkind and wicked, as it does some rich 
people. And then the poor often suffer a great deal ; and when 
they have not the fear and love of God to comfort them, suffer- 

13 * 


290 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


ing often makes them speak, and feel, and act as they would not 
if they knew the love of God.” 

“ Can not they be taught to know it then, mamma ?” 

“ Yes, Jane, we must try to help every one to know the love 
of God through Jesus Christ ; God’s love can change the hardest 
and most wicked heart, and make it gentle and patientr— even 
in suffering. So when we find any one unkind to us, whether 
poor or rich, we must try and show them what the love of God 
can teach and enable us to bear and to do ; and if we can we 
must tell them of His love, that they may seek it also.” 

“Then if the old woman is unkind, what will you do, 
mamma 

“ I do not think she will be ; but if she should, we must speak 
iie more gently and kindly to her, and perhaps she will soon 
find that we want to be a help and comfort to her, and then she 
will be glad to see us ; and our love may lead her, perhaps, to 
seek the love of God — and that will make her happy in her poor 
cottage here, and then it will take her to Heaven.” 

Jane was satisfied, and asked no more ; she had learned an 
added lesson of truth ; no suspicion had been taught her ; her 
mother had only reminded her of the fact — that from sin’s evil 
root we must not be surprised to find its bitter fruit; and 
she had bound upon her child “ the breastplate of faith and 
love,” to shield her from the painful effects of a surprise. The 
youngest soldier of the cross needs to be so prepared and 
guarded, when venturing on ground untried by others for his 
steps ; and care is needed — is greatly needed — lest the older 
mind should teach by infusing suspicion and doubt, instead of 
giving the simple knowledge of the universal fact of man’s evil 
heart, and carefully binding on the child’s young spirit that 
breastplate of faith and love which can alone guard it for its 
safe conflict with the world. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


201 


The next day Jane set off with her mother for the cottage on 
the heath. It was true she walked with more silent question 
mgs in her heart — as to what they might meet in the old 
woman’s cottage — but it was the questioning that belongs to 
Earth’s uncertainty ; and whatever might be found, she w r as pre- 
pared to meet it now, without being driven back by a surprise. 
The cottage door was shut ; on Mrs. Mansfield’s knocking, the 
old woman opened it, and Mrs. Mansfield said, “ We have walked 
up from the town to call on you : may we come in ?” 

“ It ’s no place to come into,” said the aged woman, “ but you 
can if you like.” 

So Mrs. Mansfield went in, and sat down on a broken chair ; 
Jane found a seat on the bottom of the bedstead, and the aged 
woman sat down again by her small table, where she was taking 
her twelve o’clock dinner of a little tea and a crust of bread. 

“ You must feel the cold on this open heath,” said Mrs. Mans- 
field. 

“ Yes, it ’s enough to perish an old woman like me ; but I 
could never make up the high rent down in the town, so I am 
forced to bear it as I can.” 

“ We thought that you might like a coal-ticket ; they are giv- 
ing some in the town ; do you know about them !” 

“ Oh yes ! I know about them.” 

“ W ould you like to have one ?” 

“ Well, I can have it if you like, but I don’t suppose I can 
ever get the coals out here ; I am sure I can’t carry them.” 

“ No, you could not carry them yourself , but I see some other 
cottages near ; perhaps you have a neighbor who could ?” 

“ No, there ’s no one who neighbors with me ; I have no one 
to look to but myself ; what I can do for myself I do, and what 
1 can’t I have to go without.” 

“ Could you not manage if you had a shilling with it ? TheD 


292 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


you could pay the sixpence that is necessary with the ticket, 
and give something to a boy to carry them for you.” 

“ Yes, I suppose I could do that.” 

“ Shall I write your name on the ticket, then ? I have a pen 
and ink in my basket.” 

“ You can if you please.” 

So Mrs. Mansfield wrote ; then turning to the aged woman, 
she said, “ You feel as if you had no one to look to ; but there 
is a Friend who is able and willing to help and comfort you, if 
you ask it of Him.” 

“ I suppose you mean there is a God above,” said the old 
woman ; “ I know that !” 

“ I mean that the God above sent His beloved Son to die for 
you, that you might find pardon, and help, and hope in Him — 
even in Jesus the Son of God.” 

“ Well, I dare say it may be ; but those who have no learning, 
like me, can not come at the understanding of it.” 

“ Oh yes you can, by God’s help. It is to the poor, above 
all others, that the good news is sent. It is all written in the 
Bible for you, and if you only get its words into your heart, 
they are sure to lead you to Heaven.” 

“ I can’t do that, then, for I can’t read them ; and I am not 
fit to go to a place of worship.” 

“ Oh yes, you are quite fit for that ; there are many who have 
worshiped God in worse clothing than yours : but if you like, 
my little girl shall come and read to you sometimes, when she 
walks this way ?” 

“ Well, I am for the most part busy.” 

“Never mind; if you are busy she can run on with her 
brothers ; but if you are not busy, she can come and read the 
words of the Bible to you — those blessed words that are written 
for the poor 1” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


293 


M I am sure you are very good !” said the old woman, 
softened at last. And Mrs. Mansfield and Jane took their leave. 

“ She was not really unkind, was she mamma ?” asked Jane, 
anxious to clear as much as possible any censure from her old 
woman. 

“ No, dear, she was not at all unkind, only very poor and very 
miserable ; and when people are very miserable, they often don’t 
feel able to speak pleasantly.” 

“ No, mamma ; do you think she will like me to read to 
her?” 

“ Yes, I feel sure she will, after a little time. I think she will 
soon begin to love you, Jane ; and then perhaps you may teach 
her to know the love of God her Saviour, and then she will soon 
feel very different, and look very different.” 

“ Shall I go to-morrow, mamma ?” 

“ No, I dare say she will go for her coals to-morrow ; you 
had better wait a day or two, and perhaps by that time she will 
begin to look out for your promised visit.” 

“ I saw something she wanted, mamma — did you ?” 

“ Yes, poor old woman ! I thought she wanted almost every 
hing !” 

“ But I mean her tea-pot, mamma ; did you see it was tied 
together with a string ?” 

“No, I did not see that. 

“ It was, indeed, mamma ! How much would a tea-pot cost ?” 

“You could get a. small black tea-pot for tenpence.” 

“ Ten weeks, then, mamma, it would take me before I could 
buy one !” 

“ Yes, it would ; but you need not wait for that, because 1 
think I have a tea-pot at home I could spare ; it is a pewtei 
tea-pot, a good deal bent, but it has no holes in it.” 

“ May I take it, then, mamma, when I go ?” 


294 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Yes, and if you like, you shall make her a warm garment, 
and take her that as a present from me.” So Jane, with delight, 
gave her play-time to work, till in three days the garment was 
ready ; then; with the tea-pot packed in a basket, and a little tea 
and sugar from her father beside it, and with her mother’s warm 
present tied up in a parcel, the happy child set forth with her 
brothers and her nurse. 0, how she longed to reach the cottage * 
And when at last it came in sight, she said, “ Nurse, may I run 
on now ?” and then swiftly she crossed the wintery heath, anc 
knocked at the old woman’s door. 

“ 0, it ’s you 1” said the old woman ; “ I have looked out foi 
you !” 

“ Mamma has sent you this !” said Jane, unfolding her mother’s 
present ; “ will it not keep you warm ? I made it for you all 
myself, except the fixing !” 

“ Why, I never had the like of this before !” said the old wo- 
man, with evident surprise. 

“And mamma said I might bring you this tea-pot,” said 
Jane ; “ and there is some tea and sugar from our shop !” 

“ I am sure you are very good to me !” said the old woman, 
with feeling in her tone. 

“ Are you busy to-day ?” asked Jane. 

“ No, I am not busy, I have nothing to be busy about.” 

“ Shall I stay a little while ?” 

“ Yes, dear, if you can content yourself.” 

“ O yes, I like to stay with you, you must be so dull here all 
alone ! Do you like me to read to you ? I have brought my 
own Bible.” 

“ As you please,” replied the old woman. 

“ I can read to you about Heaven in the Revelation,” said 
Jane ; and she read from the seventh chapter of Revelation, the 
ninth verse to the end of the chapter. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


295 


“ It ’s very fine, I dare say,” said the old woman, “ for those 
who can get hold of it, but I have no understanding.” 

“ Gan not you understand it ?” asked Jane, with disappoint- 
ment. 

“ No, I never had any learning.” 

Jane looked down on the sacred words, and pondered what 
to say. 

“ I wish you could understand 3” at last said Jane, looking up 
earnestly at the old woman’s face ; “ if you could it would make 
you happy. Shall I read them once over again ?” 

“ As you please,” replied the old woman, “ but I have no 
understanding.” 

Jane read a few verses again, then stopped, saying, “ Do you 
know who the Lamb means ?” 

“ No,” answered the old woman. 

“ It means Jesus, God’s Son, because he died for us !” said 
Jane. Then Jane read on about the white robes, and stopped 
again, and said, “ Every body in Heaven wears a white robe, 
because Jesus has washed them all white in His blood ! I can 
teach you a prayer about that — it is a very short prayer out of 
the Bible — “ Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.” Do 
say it after me, and then you will know it !” 

The old woman tried ; at last she seemed able to remember 
it a little : — and when Jane was gone, she still sat on her 
broken chair, saying over to herself, “Wash me whiter than 
snow ! Wash me whiter than snow !” 

It was simple teaching, and simple learning ; but we must 
estimate the full meaning of the few words left in the aged 
woman’s heart, before we can estimate the value of the lesson 
given and received. “ Wash me !” there lay the assertion of 
her need of cleansing — a need only to be truly learned from the 
entrance of that Word that enlighteneth the eyes. “ Whiter 


296 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


than snow — there lay the assurance that there was a powei 
that could make clean, make without spot the heart and life, 
that needed washing-, unable to cleanse itself. When the 
Word of God, that gives at once the knowledge of sm and 
the only remedy, is thus fixed within the heart, the nail is 
fastened in a sure place — though the Master of assemblies 
deign to work by the infant of days in fixing it there. 

Jane’s pence were now saved up by her eager, joyful hand 
of love, for her own old woman. First two lilac print aprons 
were bought and made, with a white one for Sundays. Mrs. 
Mansfield added a large handkerchief to pin outside the 
gown over the shoulders, which Jane hemmed; and when 
these were about to be taken, Mrs. Mansfield said, “ Suppose, 
if I can find a piece of black silk, I make her a little black 
bonnet ?” 

Of course the thought of this was delightful, and Jane 
kept back her gifts till the bonnet was ready. The neat- 
est old woman’s bonnet was made, the silk put plain on a 
small close shape, and then Mrs. Mansfield made a plain 
net cap, with a net border, while Jane watched her mother’s 
needle with eager interest. The bonnet and cap were put in 
a little blue bandbox ; and then Mrs. Mansfield found a shawl 
of her own for the old woman ; and so, richly laden and over- 
flowing with gladness, Jane set out, with her nurse and her 
brother to help, and the little ones to share the interest, on the 
way to her old woman’s cottage. Tears started to the eyes of 
the poor old woman — tears of love and grateful feeling ; and 
Jane saw the old woman at church — in her white apron, and 
neck-handkerchief and shawl, and her little black bonnet and 
white net cap. The hand of love had clothed her, the voice of 
love had warmed and cheered her ; there were tones that make 
the heart’s music now on earth for her ; and, led by these, she 



p. 296. 


M. (J 





























































































» 













MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


207 


went to hear of the love that these bore witness to — the love 
that passeth knowledge ! 

Before the cold of winter had passed away, Jane discovered 
that her own old woman had stiff limbs from rheumatism ; she 
told this, as she told every thing, to her mother ; and on Mrs. 
Mansfield’s learning from Jane that the old woman’s floor was 
often damp, and she without any covering for it, Mrs. Mansfield 
found up a variety of pieces of carpet, some old and some new, 
and showed Jane how to join them. With an old pair of gloves 
on her hands, fine twine, and a short carpet-needle, Jane sat on 
a low stool on the nursery floor and made her patchwork rugs. 
It was kept a great secret, the old woman was to know nothing 
about it till it was done ; and never could work have afforded a 
child more pleasure. She was to take the many-colored rug, 
when finished, and lay it down herself ; it would fill up all the 
space between the bed and the fire, just where the old woman 
sat, and light up with its variety of patterns and colors the old 
woman’s dreary dwelling ; the little window had long been 
cleaned by the old woman’s own thought, to let in more light 
for Jane to read, and Jane had secret thoughts of asking her 
mother if she might not make a new curtain for it ; but the 
carpet-work fully engaged her spare time for the present ; and 
sometimes her mother, and sometimes her nurse, gave her advice 
as to how best to arrange her various-shaped pieces. One day, 
while Jane was intent on her work in the middle ot the nursery 
floor, the daughter of a neighbor and friend of her mother’s 
knocked at the nursery-door, and on nurse saying, “ Come in,” 
she opened the door, saying, by way of excuse for her appear- 
ance there, “ I found your mamma was out, and I got the serv 
ant just to let me run up, because I have no time to stay, and 
[ want you to come to drink tea with us on Friday. I am 
co have a party. Mamma has bought me a new best frock of 


298 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


green silk, and I shall wear it then ! What is your best 
frock ?” 

“ I have no best frock,” said Jane, “ only one old stuff and 
one new stuff, and I wear white on Sundays in summer, and 
when I go out with mamma, if you mean that ?” 

“ No, I wear white sometimes in summer ; but how very odd 
you should not have a best frock ! Shall you come in your 
stuff frock, then ?” 

“ I don’t think mamma will let me come at all,” said Jane, 
“ I never go out to tea without mamma, unless it is with nurse 
into the country in the summer-time.” 

“ Well, but you will ask, will you not ?” 

“ Yes, I will ask mamma,” said Jane. 

“ What are you doing here, then ?” said Jane’s young visitor, 
looking down on the patchwork carpet ; “ sowing bits of carpet, 
I declare ! what terrible hard work ! I never have such work 
to do.” 

“ It is not hard,” said Jane, “ I like it very much ; it ’s for a 
poor old woman who has nothing to lay on her floor, and her 
floor is damp !” 

“ 0, well, I don’t know any old women, but if I did, I think 
I should get my mamma to buy her a bit of carpet !” 

“ Mamma says,” replied Jane, “that it is much better to give 
what we have made ; and I know my old woman will like it a 
great deal the more for my having made it. And mamma says 
it will be much stronger and warmer than a new piece, because 
of all the joins I have made !” 

“ 0 yes, I dare say it will ; but if you come and see me on 
Friday, I will show you my work ; I am working a little boy 
and girl in worsted, sitting on a stool, and they have such rosy 
faces ! I think I shall give it to mamma when I have finished 
it, but I don’t know, because mamma says she is tired of the 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


2P0 


sigh t of it ; but if I don’t give it to mamma, I shall find some 
one to give it to.” 

When her young visitor was gone, Jane said to her nurse, 
** Do you think mamma would like it if I were to work some 
children sitting on a stool for her?” 

“Nonsense!” said nurse, “your mamma sees enough of chil- 
dren sitting on stools, without your wasting your time in show- 
ing her. I have no patience with such folly ; you had much 
better make carpets all your life for those who have none !” 

“ I never made any thing for mamma,” said Jane. 

“ Well, you may be sure your mamma is best pleased whGn 
you are working for the poor ; but if you want to make some- 
thing for her, I can tell you what would be a great deal better 
than children sitting on stools !” 

“ What, nurse ?” 

“ Why, net her a purse ! she uses one of those wove things, 
that look old before ever they look new ; you might make her 
one that would look and wear well, and there would be some 
sense in that.” 

“ But I can not do netting, nurse.” 

“ O, I can soon teach you that ; if you save up yom pence for 
three weeks, you can buy a skein and begin. I have got a 
needle and pin.” 

“ But will mamma know ?” 

“ There is no need she should : if you like to be up these 
light mornings you may work an hour before breakfast, by three 
weeks’ time it may be a great deal warmer than now ; but then 
you must save up all your money, because there will be the 
rings and the tassels as well as the silk.” 

The agreement was joyfully made. Now came the finishing 
of the patch-work carpet, and Jane, with her nurse’s help, carried 
it up to the old woman, and laid it down before her wondering 


300 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


eyes, and then looked round with delighted feeling at the change 
in the cottage, and the change in the dear old woman since the 
day when first she entered it. 

The purse could not be begun till the first three-pence was 
saved up. 

“You don’t know whv I save up my money now, mamma!” 
said Jane to her mother. 

“ No, indeed, I can not tell ; do you want a few of my pence 
to help yours a little, that I may know the sooner ?” 

“ 0, no, mamma, that would not do at all, it must be all my 
own money !” but while the child answered so, she felt the con 
fidence that would have helped her secret purpose without even 
asking to know it. 

Jane could not quite forget her young visitor’s remarks, so 
one day she said to her nurse, “ Mamma never buys me a best 
frock !” 

“No, nor does not need,” replied nurse, “it’s only those vrho 
don’t look always as they should, and who want to look some- 
times as they should not, who think about best dresses ! Your 
mamma always keeps you neat, and fit to be seen according to 
your station, and so you have no more need to think about 
wanting a best frock than any lady in the land.” 

There was something so decided and satisfactoiy to Jane in 
her nurse’s reply, that she thought no more upon the subject, 
quite convinced that to be always neat was the only point of 
importance. But she could not so readily forget the worsted- 
work, and though she was intent on her secret purse, she still 
thought it would be very pleasant to do some work with colored 
wools ; she did not go to her young visitor’s party, so she had 
not seen the work of which she had heard so much. “ Mamma,” 
said Jane, one day, “ should you think that children sitting on a 
stool would look pretty done in worsted-work ?” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


801 


w 1 do not know, unless I saw them,” replied her mother, “ hut 
I do not generally admire such pieces of work; they take a 
great deal of time and attention, more, I think, than they are 
worth. Did you wish to try some worsted-work ?” 

“ Yes, mamma, I should like very much, only nurse said it 
\sas nonsense to do children sitting on a stool, and I don’t know 
what else could be done.” 

“ A great many things can be done ! I think the best would 
be to work your father a pair of worsted slippers, to put on 
when he comes in from the shop ; nurse would not think that 
nonsense.” 

“ 0, yes, I should like that a great deal* the best ! May I do 
that, mamma ?” 

“ Yes, you shall go to the shop with me and choose them for 
yourself.” 

And so the child found full employment now, in her early 
work for her mother, and her later work for her father — all 
through the spring’s bright weeks ; and then the joy of present- 
ing her gifts, and seeing the lasting pleasure with which they 
were used — the smile of remembrance that fell on her glad eyes 
when the purse was drawn out sometimes, or the slippers put on. 
And thus, within and without her home, every pure and hallowed 
sympathy was strengthened in her young life by natural and 
easy exercise. 


CHAPTER XXI 


‘The world’s a room of sickness, where each heart 
Knows its own anguish and unrest ; 

The truest wisdom there, and noblest art, 

Is his, who skills of comfort best” 


the following spring an invitation came for Rose, from hei 
mother’s only brother, a farmer on a large grass-farm in Der- 
byshire : it was a long journey for Rose to take, and her father 
was very unwilling to lose his little comforter from his home : 
Rose also did not like the thought of another visit to unknown 
relations, but her mother was resolved — Mrs. Smith said that 
her brother would have good reason to be offended as Rose had 
been allowed to visit her other uncle, if his invitation was*now 
refused ; so the engagement was made, and Rose was to meet 
her uncle in London, to which place he expected to travel up 
in about three weeks’ time ; and as in those days it was not 
thought worth while for children to take a long journey for a 
short period, it was settled that Rose was to spend three 
months beneath her Derbyshire uncle’s roof. 

When Molly, the maid at the farm, found that Rose was to 
leave for another long visit, her patient endurance gave way to 
despair, and after nine years’ faithful service she told her mis- 
tress that she must leave her place — unable to bear the prospect 
of her mistress’s trying temper without Rose to soften it. Things 
were not improved in the house by Molly’s giving warning ; 
Mrs. Smith really valued her and was very sorry to lose her j 
302 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


303 


but the pride of heart which made Mrs. Smith’s temper so trying 
to all, would not now suffer her to express any regret— -she only 
showed resentment at what she called Molly’s ingratitude ; and 
Rose left her home with a sorrowful heart. 

When the time for Molly’s departure arrived, she came to take 
leave of hei mistress in tears — little Tim had run off crying, to 
hide himself in the stable — and Molly gathered courage and 
said, “ I am sure, ma’am, I never would have left your place for 
another, if I might have but reckoned on a pleasant word some- 
times ; but I don’t think, since master Joe and the horse went 
away, you have given me so much as one smile — and I’m sure 
tnat their going was none of my doing ; and I can’t stand it, 
ma’am, and I don’t see who is to stand it !” There still were 
moments when Mrs. Smith’s pride had almost more than 
enough to do in keeping down and hiding up the buried feeling 
of her heart ; and now when her faithful, her really valued serv- 
ant stood before her and confessed that her mistress could have 
bound her to her service by a smile, when that servant was 
really departing, Mrs. Smith found the only disguise for her 
feeling would be silence — she did not therefore speak a word — 
she held out Molly’s wages without looking at her, and then 
turned another way ; while poor Molly, quite overcome by what 
seemed to her the unkindest act of all, left the farm for her 
mother’s distant village, with a feeling of unreturned, affection 
and heart-broken distress. 

There was one person — and only one — with whom Mrs. Smith 
had to do, to whom she had never spoken a harsh word : it was 
not Rose, it was not little Tim, it was not her favorite William ; 
no, it was the orphan child, Mercy Jones. It was true the 
orphan’s grandmother, Widow Jones, had always stood as high 
as possible in Mrs. Smith’s regard ; Jem also, Mercy’s uncle, Mrs 
Smith considered worth all the other men and boys on the farm 


804 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


put together, because she said, “ If you make him understaud 
what is to be done, you may give up the worry yourself!” But 
it was not her grandmother’s and her 'uncle’s good qualities that 
procured such favor for Mercy, Mrs. Smith was a strict examiner 
of each individual with whom she had to do, and nothing but. 
personal integrity could ever win her regard. Mercy was a tall, 
delicate-looking, gentle child, with a thoughtful heart, a willing 
mind, and a ready skill, that far more than compensated for her 
lack of strength ; and now that for the first time in nine years 
the farm was left without a maid, widow Jones and Mercy both 
came in to help. It might have been supposed that these two 
helpers would prove equal to Molly’s former service, and so they 
might have been but for Mrs. Smith’s apprehensions on Mercy’s 
behalf : “ Here, give that to me, girl,” she would continually say, 
taking the work from Mercy’s hands, and finishing it up with 
equal energy and sevenfold power ; then, kindly adding, “ It’s 
not, as I say, because you have not the notion, but because you 
have not the strength !” While to her husband Mrs. Smith was 
constantly declaring, “ Slave as I may, I am sure that girl will 
be overdone ! she’s too willing, and the work ’s beyond her, and 
an orphan too as she is — I wish enough I could meet with some 
one I should not always be afraid to put upon !” Many girls 
came and offered themselves, but Mrs. Smith declared that there 
was not so much as one among them who had any right to the 
name of a servant ; she could tell that without any need of a 
trial ! All this time, while vexing over Mercy’s toil, over-work- 
ing her own strength, and objecting to every girl who came 
before her, Mrs. Smith never named the absent Molly : in all the 
vexatious trouble she daily made for herself, she cast no fresh 
censure on Molly ; and could Molly have seen her mistress’s real 
feeling, the probability would have been her instant return to 
offer her services again ; but pride lay between Mrs. Smith’s 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


305 


heart and her lips, and kept her continually back from the con 
fessions that would have led to peace in her family, instead of 
strife and debate. 

All through the years of which we have been speaking, 
Patience had lived on in her place of service with the family of 
Mr. Mansfield’s foreman ; but her master and mistress had for 
some time felt that the increasing expenses of their growing 
family were putting a servant beyond their means ; and a still 
stronger reason for doing without one lay in the good sense of 
these excellent parents, who both felt that the best way of teach- 
ing their children diligence and method in accomplishing work, 
would be to bring them up to get well through all that their 
own home required. But how to send Patience away was the 
painful part, and month after month, then week after week, her 
dismissal was delayed, till at last the foreman’s wife said, “Well, 
I can not help it, she has worked like a child for me, and you 
must tell her, fbr I can’t ; you hired her, she knows, and so it 
will come natural to her !” It was very seldom that the good 
woman’s resolution failed her, but now it did ; and her husband’s 
mild firmness came in to the rescue of their home principles. 
He told Patience quietly and decidedly that he felt the time had 
come when his girls must do all the work of their house ; that 
both he and his wife valued her faithful services, but still more 
the example she had set their children ; he said she had earned 
what was better than any wages — the lasting regard of those she 
had served ! and he told her to come to his house, as a home 
always open to her, while she maintained the same character she 
had earned in his family. The color left the cheek of Patience, 
but she could not speak ; her master added, kindly, that they 
should not think of parting with her till she met with a comfort- 
able place, and that, therefore, she need feel no anxiety on that 
subject, and then left her. When Patience returned to her mi* 


800 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 



tress and the children, her tears broke forth, her good mistress 
cried also, and the children cried, but her mistress making an 
effort, said, cheerfully, “ Come, child, it ’s not for you to fret ; you 
have done your duty here, and your reward will follow ; you aro 
only going to make more friends, and not to lose those you leave 
behind ! So cheer up, and be as busy as you can — that ’s the 
best cure for low spirits of most kinds.” So Patience tried, but 
the spring of her work was gone. She worked as well as before, 
but it was the work of habit and principle, not the energy of 
life ; and often through her heart a faintness passed, as she felt 
the home was her’s no longer ! she must wander out again into 
the world her childhood found so rough ; and thoughts of her 
early life and of her first place of service came back with a sink- 
ing weight on her spirit. 

Having spoken to Patience, her master now named the subject 
to his employer, Mr. Mansfield, and Mr. Mansfield promised to 
name it to some of his best customers. Among the first of these 
on the next day, being market-day, was farmer Smith. 

“ It’s no use to ask you, Mr. Smith, whether you want a serv- 
ant girl, for your’s knows the value of her place, it seems, too 
well to leave it !” 

“Ah, she is gone at last!” replied farmer Smith, gravely. 
“ Yes, her’s was nine years of honest service. She earned her 
wages fairly enough ; but she is gone at last !” 

“ Well, then, I can find you just such another. My foreman, 
here, like a wise man, is giving up servant-keeping, and he wants 
a place, he says, for one of the best girls who ever called herself 
a servant.” 

At this the foreman came forward and talked with farmei 
Smith, and Mr. Mansfield waited on his other customers. 

Now, Mrs. Smith had often said that she would rather by far 
teach a girl farm- work and farm-ways from the beginning, than 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 307 

have one who thought herself clever at every thing ! So fanner 
Smith went home, thinking he had met with the very girl most 
likely to satisfy his wife ; but Mrs. Smith was not in a mood to 
be satisfied with any thing, or any body, and only replied to 
farmer Smith’s pleasant description : “ And what ’s the use of a 
girl who never stirred from the town, and knows only town 
ways, out here in the country ?” 

“ Why, a good servant is a good servant,” replied Mr. Smith ; 
“ and as for our ways, why, she can learn the country ways, 1 
suppose, as well as she learned the town ways — if she has a 
mind to them !” 

“ But it is not the least likely she would have a mind to them ; 
girls who have been used to the town never settle in country 
places like this ; she had a thousand times better stay where she 
is,” said Mrs. Smith. 

Mr. Smith found it was hopeless to urge the point; so he 
dropped the subject. On the next market-day he made one 
more attempt, asking Mrs. Smith if she would not like to go 
in and just see the girl? But Mrs. Smith replied, that she 
could judge about it quite as well, without having to go seven 
miles to come to an opinion ! So Mr. Smith took his drive to 
the town alone. He called at Mr. Mansfield’s shop, and re- 
quested the foreman to wait one week longer for his answer, 
which he readily consented to do, as he thought the place must 
be a good one, where the last servant had remained nine years ; 
farmer Smith’s character also stood very high, and Patience 
was quite willing to go. “ Moreover,” the foreman added, “ my 
opinion is, that the girl will settle all the better a little distance 
from my wife and children, of whom she is wonderfully fond !” 
So farmer Smith, very anxious to secure a good girl for his 
wife and home, waited for the forlorn hope of Mrs. Smith’s 
change of feeling by another market-day. 


808 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


The week passed by ; every girl that applied foi the place 
wa? pronounced by Mrs. Smith to be as unfit as cou.d be, and 
the last person she would think of engaging with ! while she was 
stil vexed at having no servant to do the work, and protested 
that Mercy would be ill with overdoing — but Mr. Smith heard 
all in perfect silence. The next market-day arrived, but Mr. 
Smith asked no questions; he prepared as usual for market; 
when, just as with hat and whip he was leaving the house, Mrs. 
Smith followed him and said, “ There is not the least use in the 
world in my going all that way after a girl that is not likely to 
come, or to stay if she did come ; but if she has a mind to come 
after the place herself, why, that ’s another thing !” 

“When would you like her to come then?” inquired Mr. 
Smith, “ supposing she is willing ?” 

“ Why, the sooner the better ! I am sure I am in a fidget 
about that child Mercy, every day of my life ; it ’s a wonder that 
she is not overset already, and I also, with the work of such a 
place as this is !” 

Mr. Smith stepped quietly into his gig, and drove off. In the 
evening he returned with Patience seated beside him. 

“ What have you been after now ?” exclaimed Mrs. Smith, in 
dismay, calling farmer Smith aside privately. “ That ’s just the 
way with you, never giving one time to turn round ; you think a 
thing is no sooner said than it can be done ! I never meant the 
girl to come for good till I had seen her !” 

“Well, wife,” replied Farmer Smith calmly, “ there is no hargj 
done ; the girl could not make her way out here alone. If you 
don’t fancy her, Jem can drive her back in the light-cart after 
tea, or you can keep her a week on trial ; both her mistress and 
the girl were willing either way.” 

Hearing this, Mrs. Smith was somewhat pacified, and she 
went out to receive Patience, who stood waiting at the door, 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


309 


There stood Patience, a stout, strongly-built young woman, 
with a fresh color and pleasant face, her dress neatness itself. 
When she saw her expected mistress, Patience made a low cour- 
tesy, such as she had always been used to in her school days in 
the town, and she stood silently before Mrs. Smith. Now Mrs. 
Smith was not naturally without kindness of heart ; it was pride 
and selfishness which she had suffered to grow within her unre- 
strained, that blinded her to the feelings of others ; but when she 
8aw a stranger girl before her, one of whom she heard so good a 
character, her natural kindness rose unimpeded, she received her 
with a welcome, and made her take a comfortable tea ; and said 
that as she was come so far, and had brought her things with 
her, she had at all events better stay the week. 

Patience rose the next morning, almost at break of day. She 
opened her little window, and wondered at the fragrance of the 
air ; she looked over the land, and while she sighed for the sleep- 
ing children far away, and the cheerful call of her mistress’s kind 
quick tone, that could not reach her now — while she sighed for 
these, she felt that she could love those pleasant fields better far 
than the town, and that if she could but bring her master’s family 
to her, she should never wish for the town again ; but then the 
feeling of a stranger in a strange place came over her, and she 
could only turn from the window to commit herself in prayer to 
Him who is the stranger’s God. As soon as Patience heard her 
mistress moving, she left her room, and, greatly to the surprise 
of Mrs. Smith, her new maid stood before her at five o’clock in 
the morning, in her neat gown of dark blue, with short sleeves, 
and a stout apron — as fit for farm-house work as for any other 
There was about Patience a quietness of look and manner that 
made a strange contrast with her active figure and step, quick 
without haste, and quiet without dullness — it might be that the 
exterior of her early sorrow had never been quite effaced, but 


310 


MINI8TERING CHILDREN 


left its gentlest shade upon her life’s after vigor and brightness 
There was also a propriety of manner about Patience that could 
not fail to produce a pleasing impression, and a readiness of at- 
tention and willingness of movement that made it no effort to 
tell her to do any thing ; while her thoughtful care more fre- 
quently prevented the need of her being told. Mrs. Smith’s 
quick eye soon read these qualifications, and the consequence 
was, she instantly made up her mind that Patience would con- 
sider herself too good for the place, and would be certain not to 
stay ; but still, as she felt her deserving of attention, she put her 
in the way of farm-house work, giving her daily instruction in 
milking and other peculiarities of the dairy. Patience was very 
grave, for her heart was still in her last place, she was always 
finding herself back again in thought with those she had left, 
and Mrs. Smith failed not to set this down to discontent. “ But, 
surely,” said Mr. Smith, “ the girl does every thing in as pleas- 
ant a way as can be, and what would you have more ?” 

“ 0 ! that ’s only by way of keeping up her character,” replied 
Mrs. Smith. “ You will see she will never stay a day beyond 
her week ; I am sure she will never come down to the place, her 
manners are above it !” 

Mrs. Smith did not know she had one beneath her roof who 
had been humbled in sorrow’s bitter school ; one who sought 
not pride but love ; whose . heart no money could win to her 
place, but which affection’s power or feeling’s claim could bind 
to any service ; and so she made up her mind that Patience 
would consider herself above the place and go ; and she said it 
was very hard to have nothing before her but teaching the same 
things over and over again to perhaps a dozen girls one after 
another, for she was sure the place would nevei suit this girl, 
and it was not likely she would find a girl in a hurry that would 
suit her ! Mr. Smith heard in silence. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


811 


The end of the week came. Patience said nothing ; so Mrs. 
Smith felt it incumbent upon her to speak. 

“ Well, girl ” said Mrs. Smith, “ you have done full as well as 
any one might expect; but of course the place is not one to suit 
you, any one can see that, so I can only wish you a better. We 
will make out a way to get you back to your friends.” 

Patience looked up in surprise, and the color deepened in hei 
cheeks. “ I have no wish to leave the place, ma’am,” she replied, 
“ if I could suit you ; I am not likely to find a better.” 

Mrs. Smith was now more surprised than Patience had been, 
and not altogether pleased at finding herself mistaken ; for Mrs. 
Smith always felt a secret satisfaction in seeing her predictions 
fulfilled, even though she considered the events to be evil. 
Happily Patience had said that she did not think herself likely 
to find a better place, and this single expression of feeling from 
a heart in which pride had no indulgence, went far to relieve the 
involuntary annoyance Mrs. Smith felt at finding her own im- 
pression a wrong one. So Patience stayed. 

But from the day on which Mrs. Smith looked upon Patience 
as really her servant, she began her usual tone of harsh authority. 
Patience was neither slow to learn nor frequent in forgetting ; 
but the dread of her mistress’s voice made her painfully anxious 
about every possible thing that could be expected of her. The 
heavy, anxious look of her childhood began again to steal over 
and shadow the pleasant expression of her face. She would 
stand sometimes and watch little Tim in the farm-yard, by the 
side of his father, or talking with Jem, and she would think that 
child seemed the only one that she could love ; but he was sel- 
dom within, always running away as soon as possible from his 
mother’s harsh voice. He was a favorite with all the laborers, 
and they would do any thing to please him. But Jem was his 
chief friend. From the time that William had left, he had 


312 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


taken to Jem, as if he considered him to be most like his lost 
brother, and no one could so easily wake the clear tones of his 
merry laugh as honest Jem. He would ride on his shoulder, 
wander down to find him with the sheep, share his homely food ; 
and now that Rose was away, he would get to him whenever he 
could. Poor Patience used to watch the child, and wish that 
he would turn to her as he did to Jem ; but Molly was still 
fresh in the memory of little Tim, and he scarcely looked at 
Patience. So Patience felt more and more desolate, while closer 
round her heart pressed the warm memories of the home she 
had left. 

While things were in this state, Jem, who had been sent on 
an errand to the town, came into the back-kitchen to have some 
provision on his return. It was evening, and Patience was sit- 
ting there alone. Jem had often observed her disconsolate look, 
and it hurt his kind and honest heart to see so little comfort for 
her ; and now as he sat on the hack-kitchen bench, cutting his 
bread and meat with his great pocket-knife, he ventured a re- 
mark : “ Living out here in the country, I take it, does n’t suit 
vou like down there in the town ?” 

“No, it’s very different,” replied Patience; and there was 
silence again. 

“ You seem hard done up in your thoughts,” again observed 
Jem ; “I hope you have n’t happened with any misfortune.” 

“No, not that exactly,” Patience slowly replied; and then, 
encouraged by Jem’s friendly tone, and not less by the expres- 
sion of his honest face, which she had seen most days since she 
had been at the farm, she went on to say — “ I was thinking how 
little wages I could do with ! I think I could do with less than 
my last mistress would have liked to offer me ; only then I re* 
membered there ’s the food, and one must eat if one ’s to live !” 

Jem had no skill in arithmetic, and could not render much 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


312 


aid in such a calculation ; but he had a far quicker estimate, 
perhaps, than many an arithmetician of the heart’s joys and sor- 
rows, and he came in with his friendly aid at the root of the 
matter. “ Are you after a change, then ?” he asked. 

“ Well,” replied Patience, “ I was thinking if I could get back 
anyhow where I came from, I would rather live there on diy 
bread, among those that were one with me, than here, where no 
one has a care for one, on any wages !” 

“But,” answered Jem, “they said you could not hold the 
place, because the family gave up servant-keeping ?” 

“ So they did,” said Patience, “ and I’m afraid they would not 
take me back if I could go without wages ; only I can’t help 
thinking about it !” 

“Well, now,” said Jem, “take my advice. You will never do 
yourself or others a straw’s worth of good thinking on what can 
not be, and don’t be down-hearted here. Mistress is hasty, I 
know ; but I have served her from a child, and if once you get 
right with her, you will never have a trouble from her again. 
She is always for thinking every one will go wrong till she finds 
they go no way but right. Once let her get persuaded of that, 
and she would not believe the whole world if they stood out 
against you. I know it’s hard in the coming, and she has been 
put out of late more than common one way or another, and the 
last maid could not put up with it, nor wait for things to work 
round again, so she left ; but only you keep right on as you 
have begun, and you will be sure to find things mend in good 
time.” 

This conversation was the first encouragement poor Patience 
had had ; it eased her spirit also to have been able to speak on 
the subject, and for a time she went more cheerfully on. But 
the same harsh tone, the same cold short manner, met her every 
effort, and after a while she lost heart again, and began to thinli 

14 


314 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


she must give up, and try to find some other place. But where 
could she turn ? She had no opportunity, so far from the town, 
of making inquiry, and she was ashamed to write to her mistress, 
and say she could not stay in the place she had been so glad to 
secure for her. She was sitting at her needle on the low chair 
in the back-kitchen, and as she thought on these things her tears 
fell on her work. Little Tim had come, unperceived by her, to 
the back-door, and as he stood there looking in, he saw Patience 
crying. The sight touched his heart, for little Tim was no 
stranger to tears, especially since Rose had been away ; so he 
went up to Patience, and said in his kindest little voice, “ What 
for you kie ?” 

“ Because no one loves me here,” said Patience. 

“ I will love you,” said little Tim, putting his hand upon her 
cheek, and then, when Patience still cried, slipping his arm 
round her neck, he said again, “I will love you very much; 
don’t kie any more.” 

Patience clasped her arms round the child, and laid her head 
one moment on his little shoulder, as he stood beside her, and 
sobbed ; then looking up, she made an effort, and wiped away 
her tears, and said, “ If you love me, then I will not cry !” From 
that time little Tim seemed to feel that it depended upon him to 
keep Patience from crying. lie would often come and look at 
her from the back-kitchen door, and when she was alone would 
stay beside her and talk to her ; and the heart of poor Patience 
grew content in her place, because of the love and care of that 
one little ministering child. 

Rose had now been more than two months away, and they 
had proved happy months for her. Her unrde met her in Lon- 
don — a grave and' silent person, of whom Rose felt afraid; but 
her aunt’s kind face, and her cousins’ warm greeting, soon made 
her at home among them. She found every one of them full 






# 










MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


315 


of occupation ; but each one seemed ready for her, and always 
able to find her a help and comfort. She helped her cousins 
tend tneir poultry, and make the summer preserves — learning 
manv things unknown in her home. She helped them in their 
garden, where she learned from them to bud roses, prune trees, 
and as the summer advanced, to distill rose-leaves and herbs. 
She helped them in their work — she learned to cut out and 
make by herself garments for the poor; and often while she 
worked with them one read aloud, and Rose learned more of 
general knowledge in that visit than in all her young life before. 
Here she heard histories of missions, all new to her ; and read 
of other countries, also new and strange to her. She sat by her 
cousins while they taught the village children in the school, till 
at last they made her take a little class of her own ; this gave 
new interest and delight to Rose, and she thought it would be as 
hard to leave the little children of her class as it would to leave 
any thing. She wondered how she could have lived so long with- 
out knowing and loving relations so dear to her now ! but the 
distance had been great between them. Still Rose often thought 
of her home, and longed to see it again, though she did not like 
to think of leaving her aunt and cousins so far away. But when 
the harvest-time came,- and Rose was expecting to return, a letter 
arrived to say that little Tim was ill with a dangerous fever, 
and the letter asked that Rose might still remain at her uncle’s 
house, for fear of taking the fever if she returned. This was 
unexpected sorrow for Rose — little Tim, whom she loved so 
much, dangerously ill, and she could not nurse, or comfort, or 
see him! Poor Rose was overwhelmed with grief, but she 
had those around her now who knew how to comfort ; they 
loved her more tenderly in her sorrow than they had done 
before, and they reminded her to whom to look — even to the 
Saviour who can comfort any heart that turns to nim. 


ffi6 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

Little Tim lay in his cot at home, and the doctor said that his 
life was in danger. Now a real trial was come to Mrs. Smith at 
last ; she had long been making troubles for herself and others, 
but trouble was come now, and #he felt it was ; and all that be- 
fore she had made so much of was forgotten. Day and night 
she watched by the cot of little Tim ; he did not like to lie in 
her arms when restless — he seemed uneasy there, and cried for 
Rose when his mother took him ; so, weeping, she would lay 
him back upon his pillow, and sit long hours and watch beside 
him. As she sat there a sense of the past came over her — a 
sense of years of harshness and ill-temper, of peace destroyed 
by her, and sorrow made for others ; she thought too of how 
the child had always seemed glad to slip away from her, as if 
uneasy in her presence, and she looked down on his burning 
cheek, and felt as if it would kill her to see him die. Patience, 
too, would watch beside the cot while widow Jones did her 
work below — and it seemed to ease the heavy grief of Mrs. 
Smith to have her there. The men were constantly inquiring 
for the child, and Jem was always waiting about the house 
when possible, helping his mother to do the work, and asking 
of all who came from the room how tho child seemed now ? 

Mrs. Smith was leaning over the cot, and Patience kneeling 
beside it, when little Tim called “ Rose ! Rose ! do come to Tim, 
come now?” “What do you want, my darling?” said Mrs. 
Smith, “I will do it for you.” “I want to pray,” said little 
Tim, “ and Rose can teach me, I forget it now !” Mrs. Smith 
was silent. 

“ Mother, can you pray ?” asked little Tim. Mrs. Smith hid 
her face and wept, she felt she could not pray, she had never 
taught her child, and she could not teach him now, she could 
think of nothing ! 

“ Can you pray, Patens ?” asked little Tim, in his anxiety. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


811 


c Yes, dear, I do pray for you.” 

“ Oh, then you can teach it to me ! I forget it all now !” said 
little Tim, and he joined his hands together in act of prayer. 

Patience repeated the prayer she had taught to little Ruth in 
her last place, and Tim, quite satisfied, repeated it after her. 

“ Can you say my texes, too ?” asked little Tim. 

Patience made a guess, and said, “ Suffer the little children to 
come unto Me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom 
of Heaven it proved quite right, and little Tim added, “ I can 
say my other, ‘ Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth.’ ” 

“Now I can say my hymn,” said little Tim, “that Rose did 
teach me and looking up with folded hands, he repeated, in 
his broken utterance — 

“ Lord, look upon a little child, 

By nature sinful, rude, and wild ; 

0 put Thy gracious hands on me, 

And make me all I ought to be. 

“ Make me Thy child — a child of God, 

Washed in my Saviour’s precious blood; 

And my whole heart from sin set free, 

A little vessel full of Thee. 

“A star of early dawn, and bright, 

Shining within Thy sacred light ; 

A beam of grace to all around ; 

A little spot of hallowed ground. 

‘Lord Jesus, take me to Thy breast, 

And bless me that I may be blest ; 

Both when I wake, and when I sleep, 

Thy little lamb in safety keep.” 

And then, satisfied, he said, “ Mother, don’t kie any more— 


3J8 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

Patens can teach it me all 1” and turning his cheek on his pil- 
low, he fell peacefully asleep. 

Day and night Mrs. Smith repeated to herself, and tried tc 
keep in her memory continually, the prayer that Patience had 
6aid for little Tim, in the hope that he would ask her again tc 
teach him — but he never appealed to his mother any more: 
when he woke from sleep, if he had his senses, his first look was 
for Patience, and with folded hands he waited for her to teach 
him “ how to pray.” 

“ Does it hurt you very much, dear ?” asked Patience, as she 
helped Mrs. Smith to dress a blister on the child’s head. “ No, 
nothing hurts me now !” said little Tim. And he fell asleep, and 
woke no more on earth. 

It was grief for all : but the mother’s heart was broken up ; 
she took to her bed, the fever that had taken little Tim from 
earth came upon her, and her mind wandered in sorrowful deli- 
rium. Patience was her devoted nurse; while widow Jones 
sometimes gave Patience a little rest from the sick-room, or 
helped her in it, and at other times did what she could of the 
work below, with Jem to aid. 

“ I see it now,” said Mrs. Smith, when for a short time her 
senses returned, “ I see it all now, it is right I should be left to 
die ! I turned from our young minister who would have taught 
me how to live; and now death is come, and I see plain enough 
that I am not ready to meet it !” 

“ Don’t you think the minister would come, if he was asked ?” 
said Patience to widow Jones. 

“ What’s the use of it?” asked widow Jones, “she is scarcely 
a moment reasonable, and she has been so set against him, it 
might be too much for her now.” 

Widow Jones had seen their aged minister sent for many 
times to the dying ; but he had never unlocked the exhaustless 



MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


did 


treasui v of the love of God in Jesus Christ for his own heart— 
therefore he knew not how to dispense its balm of Life, its sooth- 
ing peace to others : widow Jones had never seen the servant of 
the most High God, the faithful minister of the truth as it is in 
| Jesus, draw near in his Master’s name to the dying bed where 
hope was not — this she had never seen, and so knowing only 
what she had seen, she only replied ^ 14 What’s the use ?” 

But Patience was not to be so easily satisfied. She waited 
j awhile, and then she went to her master : “ My poor mistress 
j keeps lamenting so,” she said, “ to think how she turned from 
! the minister ! Don’t you think he would come to see her if you 
asked him, sir?” • 

Farmer Smith stood silent. “ It ’s a hard case !” he replied ; 
“ I am sure I don’t know : I have been ashamed to meet him for 

! 

ever so long now ; and it ’s more than a year since he has been 
into the house, your poor mistress was so set against him ; and 
now such a fever as it is, and her senses gone, I don’t know that 
I dare to ask it !” 

“ May I go sir, and just tell him the state my poor mistress is 
in, and hear if he would please to come ?” 

“ But,” said farmer Smith, “ it might overset her, so bad as 
she is, and then if she were worse for it, I should have to answer 
for it. I dare not engage with it !” 

So Patience returned to the sick chamber. The sun was set- 
ting in the autumnal evening, she sat down by the window and 

( looked into the glowing sky, and thought of little Tim. The 
thought was sad, yet full of peace. Lost in the feeling, she 
watched the sun’s decline behind the purple clouds ; then look 
ing down below again, she saw a distant figure crossing the pas- 
ture in the valley. It was the curate ! Could he indeed be 
coming to tie farm? or would he take the road that led to the 
ejttages by the wood? Patience watched, breathless between 


320 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


hope and fear ! He crossed the farm-stile, he turned to the 
bridge over the brook, and then began to ascend the green slope 
— he was coming indeed ! Patience ran down. Farmer Smith 
was still within. He hastened out to meet his visitor, and Pa- 
tience to see that all was in readiness above. 

“I am grieved to hear of your heavy trials,” said the curate, 
as he entered the house wit? farmer Smith. ( “ I was absent at 
the death of your child, and only now heard on my return of the 
illness of your wife. I thought she might be willing to see me # 
but if not, I hope I may be permitted to speak a word of com- 
fort to you.” 

“ I am sure, sir, it is more than I could have expected !” said 
farmer Smith, hardly able to speak from overburdened feeling. 

“ It is a dark and cloudy day for you !” said the curate. “ In- 
deed a storm has burst upon you ; but you remember how after 
the storm the bow is set in the cloud for all who will look above 
to the Hand that smites them. The storm has come, and now 
we must look up and wait and watch, in prayer and faith, for the 
rainbow of promise and comfort. Will your wife be able and 
willing to see me ?” 

Mr. Smith went to the sick room, and returned, saying, “ She 
is not sensible, sir, and I am afraid it is but putting you into 
danger.” 

“Oh, I am not afraid of that,” replied the curate, “if you 
are willing I should go. We may pray for her, and more may 
be known by her than you think.” 

“ Well, then, sir, if you please,” said fanner Smith. And the 
feet of the publisher of peace, the bringer of good tidings, entered 
the chamber of sickness and sorrow. He stood a moment by the 
bed, and looked upon the poor unconscious sufferer, then said, 
“ Let us pray,” and kneeled down beside the bed, while fanner 
Smith and Patience knelt also. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


321 


“0 God of the spirits of all flesh, thou who art a just God. 
and yet a Saviour, hear us, we beseech thee, in the prayer which 
we offer up, through thy son Jesus Christ, for the body and soul 
of this sick woman. In thy most merciful hands are the issues 
of life and death. O suffer not the king of terrors to destroy, 
but raise her up, we beseech thee, that she may live in thy sight 
O spare her, most merciful Lord, now that thou hast dug with 
thy chastening hand to her roots. O spare her, we pray thee, 
yet another year, to see if she may not now bear fruit to thy 
honor and praise and glory ! Open thou her ear, good Lord, to 
hear thy still small voice in this hour of tribulation ; open thou 
her eyes to behold the Lamb of God who taketh away all sin ; 
open thou her heart to receive Him whom thou hast sent to 
seek and to save that which was lost. As thou hast plowed 
up her soul with affliction, 0 cast in the precious seed of thy 
word, and so water it with thy grace, and nourish it with thy 
blessing, that it may bring forth fruit unto life eternal. And 
cause, we beseech thee, the doctrine of thy grace and the word 
of thy lips to distill as the dew, at this time, upon the parched 
spirit of this poor sufferer, that she may know the power of its 
heavenly refreshment. We ask all for His sake whose precious 
blood cleanseth from all sin, and whose spirit quickeneth the 
dead, even Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” 

Then, sitting down beside the bed, the minister repeated softly 
and slowly, “ Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy 
iaden, and I will give you rest.” “ Come now and let us reason 
together, saith the Lord ; though your sins be as scarlet, they 
shall be as white as snow ; though they be red like crimson, 
they shall be as wool.” “ The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth 
from all sin.” u Look unto Me and be ye saved, all the ends of 
the earth; for I am God, and there is none else.” “Ask, and it 
shall be given you ; seek, and ye shall find ; knock, and it shall 


322 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


be opened unto you ; for every one that asketh receiveth, and 
he that seeketh findeth, and to him that knocketh it shall De 
opened.” The words, the tone of peace, seemed to soothe the 
sufferer — she lay still and composed. Standing up, the minister 
said, fervently, “ The Lord bless thee and keep thee ; the Lord 
make his face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee ; 
the Lord lift up the light of his countenance upon thee, and give 
thee peace !” And then he left the room. 

The curate talked long with farmer Smith below, and farmer 
Smith found, to his surprise, that there was no resentment at 
the conduct poor Mrs. Smith had shown toward him. He only 
spoke the words and breathed the spirit of sympathy, and coun- 
sel, and comfort. Oh, what a weight was lifted that evening 
from the heart of farmer Smith ! The opposition expressed and 
shown in his home to the curate, had kept farmer Smith back 
from venturing to speak to him ; but now he had been seated 
with him in his own parlor without fear, and there had been 
able to utter the long pent-up and hidden feelings of his heart. 
Oh, how the father thought of his little Rose as he returned with 
thankfulness and peace to his kitchen ! 

“ Patience, child, is it you f ’ asked Mrs. Smith that evening, 
when the light of day had faded, and the candle was lit. 
u Patience, child, is it you ? I hardly seem to know where I 
am, and yet I think I am better, I have had such a heavenly 
dream — I thought I was carried, all so bad as I am, in my bed 
to the church, and there I saw the new minister again ! 0 how 

it seemed to give me hope, for I thought I had turned away 
from him, and now I should never be suffered to see him any 
more ! I thought he stood up, but he seemed to speak only to 
me, and to look down at none but me, and he preached about 
u rest,” and it seemed as if he came with the message for me, 
straight from the God above ! and then I thought I looked round 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


323 


for little Tim to hear the sweet words too, but he was not there, 
and then I remembered he was gone ! but still it did not seem 
to strike me down as the thought of him did before, for I seemed 
to know he was gone to that “ rest” that the minister was preach 
ing about. O how it did ease me to hear our new minister 
again ! Patience, child, do you think I shall ever be able to get 
to the church any more before I am carried to my grave ?” 

“ 0 yes, dear mistress, I do think you will live, by God’s 
mercy ; and that was not all a dream you had* it was part true, 
for the minister has been here to see you !” 

“ What ! our rector ?” 

“No, the curate himself! and O, I feel sure since he came and 
prayed for your life, and your pardon, and peace, that God will 
give it !” 

“ What ! our curate been here to see me !” 

“ Yes, and he stood up here by the bed, and he said those 
words, ‘ Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, 
and I will give you rest.’ ” 

“ Why, those are the very words I thought I heard him preach 
upon. Who could have thought it! Do you think he will 
come again ?” 

“ Yes, I am sure he will,” replied Patience, “ and he will- find 
you better when he does !” 

The next day the curate called again. Mrs. Smith had been 
saved all anxiety of expectation — not thinking he would come 
again so soon : she was much overcome at seeing him, saying to 
him, “ O sir, I thought I should never have seen you again !” 

“ My Master has sent me to comfort all who mourn,” said the 
minister, “ and I hope by His grace to be able to comfort you.” 

“ O, sir, I don’t know, but I fear not, I fear my comfort is dead, 
and I dying myself !” 

u The Lord my God,” said the minister, “ is one who quick- 


324 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


eneth the dead. He can not only restore you, but comfort you 
also ” 

“ Ah, sir, I fear you don’t know how bad I have been ! I was 
set against your preaching from the first, because you said there 
was but one way for all, and you invited the worst sinners to 
come and try that way, and it hurt my pride — I thought they 
were not fit to be put so along with me ! but now I have seen that 
I am not fit to be put with them — for I am the worst of all !” 

“I have then a message for you,” said the minister, “you 
have often heard it before, but now that God is chastening and 
teaching you, you will be able to understand its meaning, and I 
trust to receive its comfort. ‘ If we say that we have no sin, we 
deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our 
sins, God is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse 
us from all unrighteousness.’ You see, then, there is forgiveness 
for you — pardon and peace with God through Jesus Christ our 
Lord, if, confessing your sins unto God, you look to the Saviour, 
.whom God has set forth to be a propitiation for sin.” 

Mrs. Smith listened to the words, and that truth which before 
had been so bitter, was now sweet to her hungry soul. The 
visits of the minister were her greatest comfort. Till at last 
from that sick-bed, the tones of hope, and peace, and praise were 
heard : and the always pleasant but now softened smile of Mrs. 
Smith would fall on those who watched beside her; and on 
Patience it fell with something of a mother’s feeling. 

The evening hearth shone bright when Mrs. Smith first came 
down to tea. Samson and Ted had done their best to make aT 
things cheerful and full of comfort. Widow Jones had put away 
into the parlor the chair of little Tim — but the mother’s eye tell 
on its vacant place. It was a long sad lesson that mother’s 
heart had still to learn; but, sweetened by Heavenly mercy, and 
soothed by Heavenly peace, the longest lesson will only the more 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


325 


establish the heart, and root it the deeper in faith, hope, and 
love. 

The autumn passed away, but fear of infection still made the 
anxious mother keep Rose from home. At last all danger was 
considered over, and the day was fixed. Rose was to return, and 
her two brothers also, William and Joe, were to join her in Lon 
dou and leturn with her. O, what a day of expectation that 
was ! Jem drove the horse in the gig to the next village inn, 
where the coach always stopped ; then leaving it there he walked 
back, and the two brothers, with Rose in the gig between 
them, drove home together. Far over the now empty fields 
gleamed the light from the farm-window, of the blazing logs 
heaped up by Ted upon the fire — the mother, in her gown of 
black, sat in her chair beside it ; the tea was prepared, and the 
pile of buttered toast, which Samson made in Rose’s absence. 
Patience had had an extra baking, with widow Jones to help, 
and all her skill could do to welcome was added to the prepared 
reception. Patience had never seen Rose as yet, and even her. 
heart trembled at thought of the one for whom the dying child 
had called, returning to the home where he was not. But in 
they came, Rose first, “ Mother ! oh, mother !” said the child, and 
the mother held her long pressed in that close embrace — as if 
she feared that she too might pass away from her sight like little 
Tim ! Then in came William and Joe, with their tender and 
gentle greeting ; tmd with softened feeling on every face, and 
deeper love in every heart, the circle, from which one had been 
taken, drew round to their evening repast. 


CHAPTER AAii. 


“ Enthroned upon a hill of light, 

A heavenly minstrel sings ; 

And sounds unutterably bright 
Spring froin the golden strings. 

Who would have thought so fair a form 
Once bent beneath an earthly storm 1” 

rilllE winter passed peacefully away at the farm. There was a 
hush about the place — a shadow evidently hung above it, the 
former active bustle of the house went on more quietly ; but it 
was a stillness that told of greater depth, a shadow beneatb 
which the best feelings of the hearts there, strengthened and 
grew. The look of anxiety which used so often to cross the 
young and blooming face of Rose, as she feared in time past hei 
mother’s hasty feeling at every fresh proposal or event, changed 
now to an expression of peace — yet with a quietness about it 
that told the sense of something gone, which steadied the light 
spirits of her happy youth, steadied but did not sadden — for she 
shared the happiness of little Tim ; and she often sung aloud the 
first perse of one of Mercy’s hymns — 

♦ 

“ There is beyond the sky 
A heaven of joy and love : 

And holy children, when they die, 

Go to that world above 1” 

And though her mother never noticed it in words, yet did she 
often listen to the low tones as Rose sang on to herself, listened 
in fear lest the sweet words should cease ; but happily Rose ao 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


32* 


quired the habit, till she would begin and keep on almost uncon 
sciously to herself. Sunday was now a day of rest indeed, a day 
made holy and a delight by the glad sounds of the good tidings 
of great joy, preached every Sabbath in the village church 
Patience had again found a home, and the heart of her mistress 
cherished for her a deeper feeling than any that Patience had 
known in service before. With Rose it was always pleasant tc 
work, or to speak — and when Patience discovered the mutual 
friendship existing between Rose and a variety of the living 
creatures upon the farm, Patience took pattern, and trained her 
cows to an intelligence that seemed to give promise of rivalling, 
in time, tl e very horses themselves ! 

In the following summer, to the delight of Rose, her Derby- 
shire uncle and aunt and two of her cousins came down, at Mrs, 
Smith’s earnest request, to make a visit at the farm. Mrs. Smith’s 
brother soon returned to his home, on account of his business; 
but he left his wife and daughters, who made a stay of six weeks 
— to the comfort and profit of Mrs. Smith, the satisfaction and 
pleasure of farmer Smith, and the ceaseless enjoyment of Rose. 
This intercourse tended to raise and enlarge Mrs. Smith’s already 
softened and rightly directed feelings. And six weeks of so 
much peaceful enjoyment had never been known before within 
the farm. 

William and Joe obtained an early holiday this year, and to 
their father’s comfort and the pleasure of all, they came down 
tor the last fortnight of the harvest-time. How merrily did 
Rose prepare the harvest-cakes the last baking before their re- 
turn, obtaining from her mother’s pleased and willing hand a 
large supply of plums — because Will and Joe would be among 
those to be fed with the harvest-cakes? And though it was 
four yeai*s since William had held a sickle, the reapers declared 
that Master William might stand king of them, for all he had 


328 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


been up in London so long ! But it was only a fortnight — and 
the ti roe drew to its close. The father had felt again the comfort 
of his eldest son at his sidfe in the anxiety and joy of harvest, and 
his spirits sank at the approaching separation. 

u Do you see any prospect for returning for good ?” asked the 
father, a few evenings before the last, as they sat together, after 
supper — the young boys having retired to rest. 

“ Well, father,” said William, “ I should wish to do what I can 
for my brothers. Joe stands on his own feet now : as for Ted I 
think I may leave him to Joe ; if you and mother consent to his 
going to sea — on which he seems so bent — Joe is much more in 
the way than I am of hearing of an opening in that line. But 
then there’s Samson ; I don’t know what you would wish about 
him. I am afraid he has not spirit enough for a farmer !” 

“ No,” said the father ; “ but I would sooner risk it, than have 
you stay away for him, till no one knows when !” 

“ Well, I need not do that, father ; for if you thought he 
would do better in business, my uncle made me an offer before I 
came down, to take him on trial ; and he might, I think, with 
his steady head, make a good man of business. If you liked him 
to come up to me this Christmas, I would see the boy fairly into 
his work, and then in another year I think I might hope to be a 
farmer again.” 

It was agreed to give Samson leave to decide for himself the 
next day. William said he could never consent to bind down 
his brother to what he had felt so much, unless he was inclined 
for it himself ; and Mrs. Smith said she should be satisfied if the 
boy made his own choice. So the next morning, before separat- 
ing after breakfast, the proposal was made to Samson. He waited 
a minute in grave consideration, then said with a deliberate tone — 
“ I should wish to come and see the place sometimes ; but foi 
the rest — I would as soon be up there as down here !” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


329 


Mrs. Smith looked out of the window, and tears started to her 
eyes. 

“ Never mind, mother,” said William in a low voice, “ there’s 
many a heart wakes up away from its home, that lay fast asleep 
in it ! ” But Mrs. Smith made no reply : she felt again the reflu- 
ent wave of bitter memory, reminding her how little she had 
done to call forth and bind the hearts of her childreu to their 
home — their mother’s dwelling-place ! Yet William seemed as 
if he could love no other — but it might be only his father and 
the place he cared for ! it was always for his father Joe talked 
of earning money ! little Tim had seemed uneasy with her ! and 
now Samson cared not whether he went or stayed ! Oh, how 
bitterly around the heart flows sin’s returning tide ! But then 
back to the mother’s memory came the first utterance of Rose 
on her return — the first words half smothered by her feeling 
“ Mother ! oh, mother !” and looking round, as if to see whether 
the child who breathed them still were her’s, she met the earnest 
eyes of Rose — bent in their full and tenderest expression upon 
her, as if only one thought were in her heart, and that one how 
her mother would bear the decision for Samson to go ! It was 
enough, the mother felt one child to be at least a gift from 
Heaven to her — a gift most undeserved ; and her strengthened 
heart was ready to endure in patience and in hope ; to wait the 
influence of better feelings — now breathed and lived by her — on 
all around. So it was decided for Samson to go. 

Ted had stood in breathless attention, while the fate of his 
brother was deciding : but the moment it was fixed for Samson 
to go, and farmer Smith had taken his hat and hastened out 
to his men, Ted exclaimed, “ And what’s going to be done 
with me ? I mean to go to sea ! Joe said he would find me a 
ship, and if he does not, I shall just run away and find one foi 
myself P 


330 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Heyday !” answered William, “ I shall look after Ro\ er’s old 
chain ! IIow do you think you are to climb a mast ?” 

“ I will just show you !” said Ted, springing into his tall 
brother’s arms, then on his shoulder, his merry face looking down 
at his brother’s, as he asked, “ Is not that something like it ?” 

“ Well done !” answered William, “ but there are no friendly 
arms on ship-board, I warn you !” 

“Just you come oft', then,” said Ted, “and see me climb the 
barn-roof — I can do it all over ! And if you and father don’t 
find me a ship, I will find one for myself !” 

“ I tell you what, my little man,” said William, stopping sud- 
denly short, as Ted was leading him to the barn, “ I shall not 
go a step further, nor see you climb, till you have listened to 
me.” So sitting down on a cart-shaft that rested on the ground, 
he made a prisoner of the impatient boy, and began his dis- 
course. 

“ Now, Ted, I tell you what, if you talk so I shall expect to 
hear that you fall down from the barn-roof and kill yourself 
before ever you see your ship !” 

“ Well, but I want to go to sea, — and father said I should, — 
and father never said Samson was to go to London, — yet he is to 
go, and I am not !” 

“ I would not have Samson in London if I could not trust 
him,” replied William ; “ and if you were only a runaway — who 
would trust you ? You must try to earn a ship, and then I have 
not the least doubt but we shall find you one, and then you will 
go on board to serve like a man, and not like a runaway slave !” 

“ But why may I not go now ? I can never earn it, so it is 
not any use to try ; and I can climb well enough, and that ’s all 
a sailor wants to know.” 

“ Yes, but you can earn it, and you will not be happy in it if 
you do not earn it,” said William. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


831 


* How can I earn it ?” 

“ By trying to do your duty now — being a comfort while you 
are at home ; and learning all you possibly can to make you 
worth taking on board ship.” 

“ But I tell you I can climb — and that is all a sailor wants to 
know.” 

“ If you think so, you are very much mistaken ; and it is a 
very happy thing for you that the ship is not yet lying in the 
harbor waiting for you.” 

“ Why, what do I want to know more than climbing ?” 

“ What ? why, a sailor ought to know as many things as any 
one ! The very first voyage you go you may be wrecked on 
some uninhabited island, and what use would you be then to 
yourself or to any one ? — Nothing better than a poor helpless 
child ! You must set to and learn the use of your hands for 
something more than climbing — a monkey can do that better 
than you already ! but you hqpe to be a man, and I hope so too, 
and you must begin to act like one, and then I shall begin to 
think we may look out for your ship.” 

“ But, Will, what must I learn ?” 

“ Why, go oft’ to Lewis, the basket-maker in the next village, 
and get him to teach you how to twist the willow withes, and 
don’t you give over till you can make mother a basket strong 
enough to send her eggs to market in. And then get old mastei 
Newsom to teach you carpentering ; and help him make his 
wheels, and his barrows, and his carts. And then you must take 
to thatching, and learn how to bind a roof in dry — before you 
reckon yourself all ready for a life that may cast and leave you 
any where ! And I advise you these next winter evenings, to 
get Rose to teach you how to work with a needle.” 

“ So I will ! and then, William, I can go to old Dawson, I 
know there’s plenty of room for me at his stall, and I will be a 


332 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


cobblei, and mend and make shoes, what fun! I will make 
haste and learn every thing !” 

“Yes, to be sure,” replied William, “and then think of what 
use you might be ! Why, you *vould be the last man to be 
parted with, if you were of use for every thing — what a busy, 
happy life you might lead! And then, Ted, do you think I 
have told you all you would want to know ?” 

“I don’t know,” replied Ted, looking up, at William’s earnest 
tone. 

“ What if there came a storm at sea, and the ship went down, 
and you went down to the bottom with it ? do you think your 
spirit would rise, like a little diver, and know its way to the 
Holy Heaven — where Tim has gone to dwell ?” 

“ Did Tim know the way ?” asked Ted. 

“ Yes, don’t you remember how he loved to pray, and to learn 
and repeat the texts and hymns Rose taught him, which told of 
Jesus who is the way to Heaven ?” 

“ Yes, I know that,” answered Ted. 

“ Then don’t you think you will want to know as much as 
little Tim knew, before you go on. those great deep waters? 
And suppose you should find poor sailor boys, or men, who 
don’t know the way to Heaven — you could teach them; and 
that knowledge would be the best of all, both for yourself and 
others.” 

“ Yes, I dare say it might,” replied Ted, “ but I don’t see that 
I can learn that.” 

“Not of yourself alone, but if you really try to learn, God 
will teach you both to know and to love it. Little Tim learned 
from Rose ; would you like to go and see our Curate with me, 
and for me to ask him to take you into his class of boys, that 
you may learn that knowledge ?” 

“Yes, I should not mind that.” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


333 


u Very well, then, we will go; and I think by when we have 
found the ship you will be ready for it — with knowledge to 
make you happy yourself, and a comfort and blessing, I trust, to 
others” 

William returned with Joe to London, leaving Ted full of 
spirit for his trades; and received under the Curate’s care to 
learn that which hath the promise, not only of the life that nov 
is, but of that which is to come. Ted inherited his mother’s 
energy, and being a general favorite, he found little difficulty 
in persuading the village tradespeople to teach him something 
of their skill — some idea how their work was done, and their 
tools handled ; besides, a refusal was not very easily given to one 
v ho had no idea of taking it. The Curate, in his walk through 
the village, would see his little scholar busy at the wheelwright’s 
side ; or look down upon his merry face in the cobbler’s stall — 
intent with earnest gravity on mending some worn-out boot 
bamson went to London at Christmas : and so passed away the 
village winter. 

Old Willy’s health had long been visibly declining; there 
were those who thought the old man would not see another 
spring, and not without reason — for in the frost of February he 
took to his bed, from which he never rose again. Widow Jones 
was his nurse, Mercy his comfort, and Jem his earthly stay and 
dependence. Rose was often sent by her mother with some- 
thing warm from the farm; and Mrs. Smith herself was not 
seldom seen making her way to the old man’s cottage. Ted, to 
his own perfect satisfaction, had soled a pair of old Willy’s boots, 
for which Dawson, the cobbler, said nothing was to be paid, 
because the. work was none of his ; so Ted earned tnem home 
and set them down close by old Willy’s bed— ready for him as 
soon as he might be able to get up; and from time to time the 
ministering boy looked in to see whether the old man had yet 


334 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


1 

made trial of the first completed effort of his skill. But old 
Willy had trod the rough path of the world to its end ; he had 
put off his shoes from his feet, and he needed to be shod no more, 
save with the preparation of the Gospel of peace — which time 
and use, so far from impairing, can only serve to strengthen on 
the heavenward pilgrim’s feet. 

At the approach of spring, notice arrived at the Hall, of the 
return of Mrs. Cli fiord and the young Squire, and immediate 
preparations were made. A request was sent that there should 
be no demonstration of joy on their return ; it was to be as quiet 
and private as possible. The servants were to be arrayed in the 
garb of mourning ; and every circumstance to mark the event, 
not as a family return, but as that of the widow and her father- 
less son. The day was not made known, in order more effect- 
ually to prevent an assembling of the people. Jem now watched 
with anxious impatience and fear, lest the fast-waning life of 
old Willy should depart before his long-cherished wish had been 
granted — to see his young master again ! Widow Jones and 
Mercy had for some time kept watch by day, and Jem slept in 
old Willy’s room by night. And still the feeble lamp of life 
burned dimly on with that old man — as if no outward circum- 
stance now affected its slow and gentle expiring. Widow Jones 
and Mercy were in the cottage, when at the sound of carriage- 
wheels Mercy ran to the door ; it was a traveling carriage, and 
there could be little doubt that it was on its way to the Hall, but 
no one was visible within, no one looked out as it swiftly passed 
oy old Willy’s door. Could it be the young Squire and the 
Lady of the Hall ? Yes, Jem, when he came in the evening, 
brought word that it was said in the village they had arrived. 
Widow Jones had sat up through the previous night, and Jem 
was to keep watch through the first hours of this — till his mothei 
should come, after necessary rest, to relieve him. The evening 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


335 


closed in, Jem drew the little window-curtain, lighted the candle, 
and opening the old man’s Bible sat down to read. But he 
found it difficult to stay his thoughts on the sacred page, his 
mind was full of the young Squire’s return — would he be alto- 
gether changed ? Jem feared it must be likely he would — away 
so long, and in foreign parts, he could hardly return the same ! 
Yet Jem believed the good were not given to change, he had 
heard his mother say so when he was a child ; and surely the 
young Squire was good if ever any were ! so it might be he 
would prove still the same. Then rose the question, would old 
Willy know him if he came to see him ? Was there conscious- 
ness enough still left for the old man to know his hope fulfilled ? 
And Jem looked round on old Willy in anxious inquiry. While 
thought was thus busy within, he heard a knock at the door; 
then a hand, to whom its latch seemed familiar, opened it; and 
and a stranger gentleman looked in ; Jem started up, but in a 
moment he knew the face, he knew the friendly smile, he knew 
the form, yes, he knew the very hand that was raised to silence 
his exclamation and then extended to him ! Jem bowed his low- 
est bow, then took the offered hand, and grasped it in both of 
his, while such a light of sudden joy suffused his countenance 
that words were little needed. Laying his hat on the table, the 
young Squire turned to the bed where the old man lay with his 
eyes closed as if in slumber. He stood and looked on him in 
silence. Oh then what a wave from memory’s sea overflowed 
his heart! the past, the long past became present again — he 
thought of his dream, and as vividly as then in his sleep did he 
now seem to see the bright angel who watched over the old 
man — the heir of glory. He thought of that time when his 
work of love was not even begun, he remembered how hard that 
work had seemed at first — then how pleasant; how the difficulty 
again grew worse thar before — then brightened into joy. And 


336 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


with that remembrance came the thought of his father — how 
he had met him in his childhood’s feelings and made him posses- 
sor of the home where old Willy dwelt — the recollection of all 
passed before him, till he wiped away his starting tears, and 
turned round to Jem, saying softly, “ He sleeps !” 

“No, sir,” Jem replied, “ I doubt if he does; he lies mostly in 
that quiet way — as if his doings with Earth were all over, and w *. 
don’t disturb him except for his food. But I will just speak to 
him now, if you please, sir, for he has longed sore to see you, and 
maybe he will still have the knowledge to understand that.” 

Jem went to the pillow, and stooping above it, said gently, 
“ Daddy, look up ! I say, daddy, look up and see who has come 
to you here !” 

The old man looked up, the voice had aroused him and called 
up his half-slumbering senses. Herbert knelt down before him ; 
and the eye of the old man fell on him, and he gazed with that 
long earnest look that the departing spirit seems to cast back 
from a still lengthening distance — its last glance through those 
eyes that have been its earthly portals of vision. The oid man 
gazed on Herbert, but he did not speak. It might be he thought 
himself lost in some dream of a hope yet unfulfilled ; howevei 
it, might be, the old man gave no sign of recognition — save thai 
fixed, earnest look on the face that now, after long years, was be- 
fore him. Herbert in that sacred moment felt afraid by the name 
so familiar to appeal to the old man — who seemed so calmly de 
parting ; afraid to bring back before him the dim visions of 
Earth, when he was just landing in Heaven. So he thought, of 
the words that old Willy most loved, and said in his clear, 
softened tone, “ Let not your heart be troubled ; ' ye believe in 
God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many man- 
sions : if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare 
a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


S3 1 


come again and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there 
j ye may be also.” The old man’s dying ear caught the joyful 
j sound ; he listened with clasped hands and eyes upraised, while 
j Herbert thus performed for him the last sacred ministry his spirit 
needed on Earth. There was silence again, and the old man 
j seemed to muse on the words he had heard. Then, as if waking 
afresh, he looked up to Jem, who still stood beside him, and 
called, in his feeble tone and words of endearment, “Jem, my 
poor boy!” Jem stooped to his pillow again, and the old man 
said, “ I have seen him ! he is grown up to a heavenly man ! and 
i he spoke those same words from my Book that he had read me 
| often and often before. I knew him, for the voice was his own !” 
! There Herbert still knelt — by the side of the bed, but the old 
| man had ceased to discern him, his dim eyes now failed him. 
| Then Herbert rose up, and taking his seat on the bed he leaned 
l over old Willy, and laid his hand softly on the old man’s, and 
said, “ Willy, dear old Willy, your young master ’s here ! I am 
he ! don’t you know me ?” 

Then the old man wept, and raising his hand, as had been his 
custom when feeling overpowered him, he said, “ It is granted 
then ! my young master ’s come !” And looking through his 
tears to where Herbert sat before him, he said with calmer 
utterance, “ I have waited for you ! I knew you would come ! 
and now I have seen you, I am ready to go. I heard those 
sweet words you spoke from my Book, and they have lifted me 
up to those mansions above. I am now at the door, I shall soon 
be gone in, and you will come to me there ! You have sheltered 
me here, I have not known a want ! but the good Lord above 
lias sent for me home. His angels are come, but He would let 
me stay till I had my last wish — to see you once more. Will 
you care for my Jem ? and please let him have my Book to show 
him the way ; and the coat that you brought me — it will serve 

15 


838 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


him for years. And when I am gone, let them lay me to rest, 
at the feet of my lady ; I have stood at the foot of her tomb in 
winter and summer, I went there most days to look where she 
lay, and ’tis there I would lie — where I always have stood to keep 
watch over her. I know that the angels keep sight of her grave 
and they ’ll watch over me — whom she taught the way to Heaven 
where they dwell. She is sure to see me when I enter in — with 
robes all washed white in the blood of the Lamb ! She will 
know then how fast in my heart I have kept the Name of my 
Saviour; long nights as I lie here, I still say to myself, ‘Jesus, 
my Saviour, Lord Jesus, my God!’ and it keeps me so close by 
the Heavenly gate that I have only been waiting for you! I 
leave you my blessing, dear young master, God grant you may 
know what the blessing of the poor man can be ; ’t is the God up 
above who makes the poor’s blessing rich, and with my dying 
prayer I commend you to him.” 

Herbert had already bowed his head on the old man’s hand, 
which his own hand still held ; and, at his parting blessing, the 
old man raised again his other hand in act of prayer, then spent 
with the effort, it fell by his side, and he seemed to repose 
Herbert at length rose, and spoke softly with Jem, and would 
have sent further assistance to watch through the night, but Jem 
said his mother had had already some hours of rest, and would 
be there by midiiight, and he would rather be alone till then. 
So Herbert returned to the Hall ; but a servant soon arrived at 
the cottage bringing warm cordials ; Jem again roused the old 
man, to take some, and he well understood who had sent the 
warm cordials for him ! then turning again to rest on his pillow, 
he slept. Jem watched by him there, while his breathing be- 
came stiller, till it ceased ; and Jem — watching beside him — 
knew not when he died. 

Herbert called at the cottage again the next day, and looked 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


339 


on the smile that still lingered on the lips of the departed. Jem 
was away at the farm, but Widow Jones and Mercy were there. 
Widow Jones took from a drawer a small bag of money, saying 
to Herbert, “ I made my promise to the old man, sir, that I would 
give that for his burying ; he said he considered it was right that 
he should make a provision for that.” 

“ Keep it then for yourself” replied Herbert ; “ I shall lay him 
to his rest.” 

“ Thank you, sir, I am sure,” replied Widow Jones, “ but if you 
won’t be offended, sir, I could not be satisfied to take it, because 
he had laid it all by, and I promised him to give it for that.” 

“ Then let me have it,” said Herbert, “ and I will send it for 
Bibles to be given in Heathen lands — that was what lay nearest 
his heart, and so in that way his own money shall embalm him !” 

The winter’s rain was over and gone, the flowers had appeared 
on the Earth, the time of the singing of birds was come, and the 
voice of the turtle was heard in the land — then it was they bore 
the old man’s body to its rest. Herbert walked on one side of 
the coffin, and Jem on the other, and the village mourners fol- 
lowed. They had dug the old man’s grave, at the young Squire’s 
direction, across the foot of the lady’s tomb, and there, with the 
words of blessing and the tears of affection, they laid him to his 
rest. Herbert lingered the last — Jem waiting near, at his desire ; 
Herbert spoke not of the past, but it rose in fresh remembrance 
before him ; till at last, turning slowly away from the hallowed 
spot, he descended the hill in heavenly converse with Jem. The 
cottage was shut up, the young Squire kept the key, and the 
dwelling mourned for three months, in desolation, the life it had 
sheltered from birth, a»d now lost from its shelter for ever. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


“ Ready to give thanks and live 
On the least that Heaven may give.” 

“Godliness with contentment is great gain.” — 1 Tim. vi. 6. 

‘\I7E must return for our last visit to the town, and take a final 
leave of the childhood of little Jane. She had grown what 
her father called “a great girl she went daily, alone, to a good 
school in the town ; and was often useful to her mother in the 
errands she could do for her. She still looked upon Widow Jones 
and her granddaughter Mercy, the old people in the almshouse, 
and the lone old woman on the heath, as her particular friends ; 
and now a whole family were to be added to the number. Jane 
heard of a poor old man in the town, a cobbler by trade, but 
scarcely able to earn bread for his family. He had been a shep- 
herd on the very heath where Jane’s old woman lived ; but he 
was obliged to give up keeping sheep, and now he earned his 
food by mending shoes. Jane heard that he was as happy as he 
was poor : and she thought how delightful it would be to help him. 
So she told her mother all she had heard ; and asked if she might 
not go herself, and take her own boots to be mended by him. 

Mrs. Mansfield replied, “ Yes, you may take them if you like, 
and tell the poor man to mend them up for giving away ; he 
will be able then to do them in a stronger way.and for less money, 
or I should not think them worth doing at all. But are y >u 
sure you know exactly the place where he lives ?” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


341 


“ O yes, mamma, I know it exactly ! I have been and looked 
down at it ; only I would not go without your leave.” So Jane 
set forth with her boots in a little basket, and in her pocket a 
purse that had for some days held a piece of silver. Eager, rich, 
and happy went the ministering child, gliding through the busy 
streets of the town ! Her’s was the joyous sense of power — how 
easily taught, how easily learned, and yet how often unthought 
o^ unknown 1 She had love in her heart, work in her hand, and 
money in her purse — what could she not do ! One thing was 
certain — she could help and comfort ; and strong, and bright, and 
fearless in this undoubting faith she hastened on. She reached 
at last the narrow door at the top of the steep flight of steps that 
led to the little court where the cobbler dwelt. Jane stopped a 
moment, looked down into the strange place, then carefully 
descended the steep steps, made of red uneven bricks, and edged 
with rotting wood, till she arrived in safety at the bottom. The 
cobbler’s dwelling was No. 2, and at the second cottage before 
her Jane noticed the clean-washed bricks before the door — it 
looked like the entrance to a good man’s dwelling. Jane gath- 
ered fresh pleasure at the sight, but now the shyness of a stranger 
came over her, and she knocked with some trembling at the door. 
A tall woman in a brown calico gown opened it, with a snow- 
white handkerchief under her partly-opened gown, a cap of thick 
muslin as white, and her sick-looking face, almost as white also. 

“ Does Mr. May live here ?” asked Jane. 

“ Yes, miss,” said the woman, with a curt’sy ; “will you please, 
to walk in ?” And Jane entered as neat a little dwelling as ever 
met a visitor’s eye. A very small fire a few inches wide and 
deep, burned in the grate ; over the fire was a high black mantle- 
piece ; on one side of the fireplace was a black closet-door, and 
on the other another black door leading up stairs ; the walls 
were whitewashed, and one little book-shelf suspended upon 


342 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

them, with a small store of books in neatest order. There was a 
long hutch opposite the fire, and on it a store of large new-baked 
loaves ; the floor was neatly sanded, and before the large lattice- 
window stood the cobbler’s low stall — not even a straggling 
leather or tool had escaped from it, to litter the brick floor ; and 
before it sat the small old man on a low round stool of homely 
manufacture, with his apron tied round him, busy at work. Two 
daughters rose up at Jane’s entrance, and the old cobbler took 
his spectacles from his nose and looked round. Jane turned at 
once to him, and said, “ I have brought a pair of boots, which 
mamma thought you might like to mend, and I was to tell you 
that they were to be done for giving away.” 

“ Thank you, miss, I am sure,” said the cobbler ; “ it ’s well to 
know that, because you see then a patch outside, here and there, 
does not signify, and that ’s a deal less trouble to do, and lasts all 
the longer — because it don’t wear out the old leather, like so many 
stitches as you must set into it for that fine particular mending 
that must be done for gentlefolks.” The old cobbler had risen up, 
and did not begin his response to the message till Jane was seat- 
ed, so that Jane listened with a settled feeling to his long reply, 
which gave her complete satisfaction, as she had not quite liked 
to say they were to be mended for giving away ! But she thought 
now how wise her mother was — who must have known all that 
when she gave her the message ! Though only a child had en- 
tered, the mother and daughters still stood, and Jane, uncomfort- 
.able at that, said, “I may stay a little while, if you are not busy, 
and can sit down ?” upon which they were all seated. The old 
cobbler had fastened his spectacles again on his nose, and was 
busy at his work ; but he seemed to feel the responsibility of en- 
tertaining their guest rested with him, so he lost no time in goim* 
on to say, “ It ’s a comfort, that many can little think, to see 
work come in at the door ; for to sit here and earn the food one 





M. U 


p. 342 








MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


343 


eats mates it seem to be doubly sweet • and I believe too that it 
does do you more good, for I believe that s tne order God has 
written upon this world — that the bread of idler ess shall do none 
the same good ! And I am sure,” said the cobbler, looking round, 
as he did for a moment at frequent intervals of his discourse, “ I 
am sure, miss, we are thankful to you for the bringing it.” 

“ I liked to come,” answered Jane, “ I heard that your wife 
was ill.” 

“ Well, miss,” replied the cobbler, looking round kindly at his 
wife for a moment, “ she is never well. I do what I can, but one 
pair of hands can hardly keep four in food and clothing and 
house-rent, by shoe-mending. And she has been sickly now a 
long time. But, as I say, we do what we can, and there ’s the 
comfort of knowing that the trial is the will of the Lord. My 
poor girls there,” the cobbler went on to say, “ would be thankful 
to do what they could, but the Lord has not blessed them with 
the sense he has given to some ; but still I say, if He be gra- 
ciously pleased to keep them from evil, and teach them the 
knowledge of Himself, why that ’s mercy enough to keep from 
fretting about the other. My poor boy is much the same, but he 
has got a place, and I hope he may keep it, for it brings in a 
little.” Jane looked at the daughters, clean and neat as 'their 
mother, and almost as pale ; they sat upright on chairs by the 
wall, and the unexpressive stare of their large round eyes gave 
evidence of some want of sense within. The father’s face was 
very like his children’s, except that in his eyes and on his lips 
was a smile as bright as a sunbeam ; and the whole expression 
of his face when speaking, was of one in earthly want already 
irradiated with heavenly faith. 

“Can youi daughters do needle-work ?” asked Jane. 

“ Yes, miss, they can sew very neatly, when they can get it 
to do; and the eldest has been in a place, but she had not the 


344 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


strength to keep it. I hope, however, she may get the better oi 
it again, and look for another situation before long, for it ’s try- 
ing to sit at home when there is not work or food ; but, thank 
God, we have managed as yet, and we would do any thing we 
could to keep the house and home together.” 

“You have bread now!” said Jane, in a tone half expressive 
of J/er pleasure at the sight of the large loaves on the hutch, and 
half inquiringly as to the reality of the fact. * 

“ O yes, miss, and I don’t know that we have ever been a daj 
altogether without. That bread that you see will all wait for a 
fortnight. We always bake one fortnight under another ; that ’s 
a rule we never break when we can possibly buy the flour, for no 
one would believe the difference it makes — how far a little bread 
will go to satisfy your hunger, when once it begins to turn moldy. 
My wife can show you our bread now ; we are now beginning the 
last fortnight’s, and that must hold out, or we should never be 
able to manage at all.” All this was said in the earnest cheerful 
tone of one who had discovered a fortunate secret of sufficiency, 
while the wife and daughters removed the hot loaves, lifted up 
the hutch, and showed the hard-looking bread now coming into 
use, Jane was distressed, it was a study in poverty new to her, 
and the thought of this constant denial of pleasant food fell more 
heavily on her heart than would the knowledge of the occasional 
want of bread — a want, the experience of which she never knew, 
and therefore the suffering of which she would not fully have 
realized. The cobbler through his spectacles read the look of 
distress on the face of Jane, and in a moment turning his quick 
bright glance from his low stool again upon her, he said, in a 
tone of cheerful comfort, “ There ’s no riches promised us here, 
if we be the Lord’s ; onlv the riches of faith and the riches of 
His blessing — and thanks be to Him, we have that ; so we can 
say, He is faithful that promised ! And ’t is my belief there ’s 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


34£ 


nothing makes the true riches increase so fast as trial does : so 
we must beware how we fret at the one, lest we lose our best 
gain of the other along with it !” J ane looked at the beaming 
face of the cobbler, with its kind and lingering expression of 
inquiry on her, as if to see whether he had removed the cloud he 
had cast over her, and she thought she had never seen any one 
look so happy as that poor man ; and her heart grew warm 
again in the sunshine of his faith — for the sudden shock of what 
she heard about the bread had chilled her with distress. 

“ Are you never unhappy because you have not better food ?” 
asked Jane. 

“ Well* miss, trouble is always ready enough to spring up ; it ’s 
got its root in my heart, and so it will have as long as there ’s 
any sin there for it to grow in, but, blessed be God, I know ‘what 
to do with it. I never let it hold up its head long. I take it 
right away to our Saviour in prayer, and I leave it with Him, for 
I believe he knows better than I do how to manage with it ; and 
so sure as I persevere in doing that, it comes right in the end, or 
T come right out of it.” 

Jane listened, and she loved to listen, for that old man’s faith 
was truly making sunshine in the cloud of his deep poverty. * But 
now she began to think that perhaps she ought not to stay any 
longer ; so, rising up to go, she slipped her piece of silver, which 
she had managed to get unseen from her purse, into the cobbler’s 
hand, saying softly, “ Will you take that little present from me ?” 
and then, in a minute more, she was climbing the steep stairs that 
led out of the court. 

Jane waited in hope of some more shoes needing repair, ana 
it was not long before her mother, who never forgot a case of 
want when once made acquainted with it, called her, and packed 
into a basket some of her children’s shoes, which she told Jane 
she might take to her cobbler. So Jane set out on the plejisant 


346 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


errand. As she descended the high steps she heard some one 
singing ; it was a bright spring day, and the cobbler’s lattice 
window was open ; Jane felt sure the voice came from there ; as 
she passed the window it stopped. Jane delivered the work she 
had brought into the hands of the cobbler, and then sat down 
on the chair he had set for her near his stall, quite disposed to 
linger in the tempting-looking cottage, now lighted up by tie 
spring’s sweet sunshine. 

“ Do you sing at your work ?” asked Jane. 

“ Well, miss, I do amuse myself a little that way sometimes,” 
said the old man, going on as fast as possible with his work, “I 
find it keeps troublesome thoughts out, and cheers my spirits up. 
I was singing a verse, as you came, that ’s seldom long from my 
thoughts;” and the cobbler took off his spectacles, and looked up 
with his face of unchanging sunshine and said — 

“ Though vilely clad, and meanly fed, 

And, like my Saviour, poor, 

I would not change my Gospel bread 
For all the worldling’s store.” 

Now Jane was surprised at the cobbler’s happiness, and could 
not quite understand why he should seem to be the happiest of 
all the good people she knew, so she said, “ Every one who loves 
God is not so happy as you are ?” 

“ Well, miss,” replied the cobbler, “perhaps it is not given to 
all alike — we see a deal of those differences in the Bible. It 
pleases God, I believe, to try his people some one way, and some 
another. I am very poor, but maybe there’s another who is not 
— then .he must have his trial some other way : let it be as it 
will, each must have a trial !” said the cobbler, looking up over 
the top of his spectacles earnestly at Jane, as if anxious to im- 
press that truth cn her mind. “ All must have a trial some 


MIMSTERINU CHILDREN. 


347 


way — because it is written, ‘Ye must through much tribulatioD 
enter into the kingdom of Heaven !’ ” 

“But,” asked Jane, “is it not very difficult to be always hap- 

py ? ” 

“ Well, miss,” answered the cobbler, without pausing in his 
busy labor, “ I should soon be dull enough if I were left to my- 
self ; but I will tell you what I find the best help, I always try 
to keep a flame of praise lit up in my heart, and that burns up 
the dross of unbelief and discontent in a wonderful way! That’s 
one reason why I so often take to singing a hymn — when I find 
that flame of praise is getting low, and I can only work on, and 
so little coming in often for my work when it is done, then I get 
singing some hymn of praise to that Saviour, who worked out 
my salvation at such a cost as His own blessed life, and gives it 
to me without money and without price ; and then when praise 
to Him kindles up in my heart, it burns up the discontent in no 
time. And then, dear me, what mercies come in ! It was only 
last night I lay awake thinking entirely of our Mary ; you see, 
miss, she is the youngest, and I have had many an anxiety about 
her, not but what she is a good girl to us, but she is very silent, 
and J was afraid whether the love of her Saviour was in her heart. 
Well, as I lay awake last night, I kept praying that the Lord 
would give her grace to choose the better part, like Mary we 
read of in the Scriptures, but I did not say any thing to her , 
well, this morning she said to me, ‘ Father, there was a text m 
my mind last night that I could not seem to forget, “ Mary had 
chosen the better part, that shall never be taken from her” — I 
hope I shall do that ! father.’ Now what a mercy that wa,s : who 
could but know that must be the Lord’s doing !” 

It was no wonder that Jane loved to visit the cobbler’s bright 
cottage. There she saw faith, not so much contending with dif- 
ficulties as triumphing over them, and its victory could not but 


348 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


appear beautiful, eveu to the eyes of a child. One day, as Jane 
was looking at a hymn-book, she suddenly caught sight of the 
very same verse that the old cobbler had repeated to her as the 
one he had been singing. Jane showed it to her mother, with 
the greatest feeling of interest ; and her mother, always quick to 
meet and strengthen every pure and hallowed feeling, found ar 
embossed card she had somewhere laid by, and in her plainest 
writing copied the favorite verse, in the center of the card ; then 
finding four little brass nails, and showing Jane how to cut up a 
piece of scarlet cloth in small rounds to fix the nails into, she 
gave all into Jane’s possession, who went the next day, after her 
morning school, by the mother’s leave, to carry the treasure. She 
stood up in a chair, and nailed it herself with the cobbler’s little 
hammer over the mantle-piece, while all the family stood ad- 
miring ; and there the cobbler, whenever he looked up, was re- 
minded of his hymn of praise. Jane gave so warm an account of 
the feeling called forth by the card upon the wall, that her 
mother said, “ If you save up your pence for a month, I will show 
you what more you can do to adorn the cottage.” Jane could 
not imagine what fourpence could do to adorn her old cob- 
bler’s walls; she tried to find out, but she could not guess, 
and her mother still kept back the secret. At last the fourth 
Saturday came, and Jane was possessor of fourpence. “ Now, 
mamma, what can it be ? do tell me !” “ You shall go out 

with me, and then you will see,” said her mother. So Jane 
went out with her mother, and when Mrs. Mansfield had ac- 
complished her business, she took Jane to a stationer's shop, 
and asked for some pasteboard ; she chose three penny sheets, 
dark purple on the wrong side, and white on the light; then 
Mrs. Mansfield asked for some tissue-paper, and chose a penny 
sheet of lilac color. “Now, Jane,” said Mrs. Mac afield, “ you 
have spent your fourpence, and this afternoon you shall see 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


849 


what you can do !” On their return, Mrs. Mansfield looked 
out with Jane some of the most interesting pictures on the 
Church Missionary papers ; then making some paste, she bade 
Jane put on her pinafore, and laying the nursery ironing-board on 
the nursery table, Mrs. Mansfield showed Jane how to divide the 
large sheets of pasteboard in half, then to cut the tissue paper in 
broad strips, and paste it round the margin of the pasteboard, 
laying the Missionary picture in the middle ; then pressing them 
under something heavy, and large enough to cover them, they 
looked, when dry, like pictures mounted on colored cardboard, 
and the broad lilac margin made the efifect very pretty — but it 
required care to lay the thin tissue-paper smoothly on, when wet 
with the paste. Jane was delighted with her work, and the 
next week, when the pictures were quite dry, her mother pro- 
vided the scarlet cloth to be cut into very small rounds for each 
nail, and four nails for each picture, there being six pictures, and 
Jane carried a hammer at the bottom of her little basket, for 
fear the old cobbler’s small wooden hammer should not prove 
sufficient; and- attended by the cobbler’s wife and daughters, 
while the old cobbler looked up from his work continually, Jane 
put up the pictures to the pleasure and admiration of all. Then 
the old cobbler stood up and looked round with delight, not 
alone on the brightened aspect of his walls, but on scenes that 
told of the triumphs of his own pure and Heavenly faith over 
the dark and cruel superstition of idolatry. From that time it 
was a favorite amusement with Jane, to save up her weekly 
penc e and make pictures to adorn the walls of all her poor friends. 

And now we must say farewell to Jane in her childhood. 
We leave her gathering around her the hearts of the poor. 
And He who guides the sparrow’s fall, guided her steps, so that 
never breath of evil, or siarht of sin, fell on her childhood’s eai 
or eye, among the poor. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


•* It grew up together with him, and with his children; and was unto him as a 
Jaughter.”— 2 Samuel xii. 3. 


HEN three months had passed away, the young Squire 



' ’ went alone to old Willy’s cottage ; he stayed some time in 
the house, then walked in the garden, and seemed engaged in a 
general consideration of the place. The next day workmen 
arrived, and the young Squire went down to meet them. Then 
began pulling down and building up ; the front of the cottage 
remained as it was, the room in which old Willy sat by day and 
slept by night was untouched, but other rooms were added be- 
hind, till the dwelling rose with its three chambers above, its 
back kitchen and little dairy, and out-houses, complete. Some 
said the young Squire was going to turn the place into a farm ; 
but no, it was a simple cottage still, too large for one person, 
but with every comfort for a family. The young Squire often 
walked down to the spot, looking with interest on all, and giving 
his directions to the workmen. 

Meanwhile the summer months were gliding by. Snowflake 
and Jet again drew the pony-carriage, and Herbert again drove 
his mother out ; and still sometimes Mrs. Clifford would call at 
a cottage, but more generally she only stopped in passing, to 
make kind inquiry ; it was evident that any general intercourse 
with others, was, as yet, an effort to her. But one day she 
stopped at widow Jones’s door, and finding her at home, went in. 
Mrs. Clifford had never forgotten Mercy — the child in whom 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


351 


Miss Clifford had always seemed, perhaps, to take more interest 
than in any other ; and Mrs. Clifford, knowing her to be of an 
age for service, and remembering her delicate look, was afraid 
lest any place of common work should prove beyond her strength, 
so she called on the widow Jones to ask whether she had any 
wish about .her granddaughter that she could be aided in. 
Widow Jones replied that she had long been on the look-out for 
a situation for Mercy ; the field-work was too much for her, she 
had not the strength for it — and that was her fear about service, 
but she believed she must make inquiry for a place in the town 
before another winter came on. Hearing this, Mrs. Clifford 
offered to take Mercy, and have her trained under her own 
maid, adding, “ I should have her a good deal with me, she would 
have to read to me, and to carry out many little plans I may 
not feel able to undertake now myself, in the village. I believe 
her to be capable of this, and if it meets your wish, I shall be 
quite willing to tiy her.” This proposal was received with over- 
flowing gratitude by widow Jones; and when Mercy heard 
of it, with delight by her. To live still in her own village near 
her grandmother, to live in her young lady’s own home, and 
wait on madam — all this was more than hope could have 
believed, or imagination pictured ! So Mercy went to service 
at the Hall, to wait on Mrs. Clifford, and be trained' under her 
maid. 

When September hung its ripe fruit upon the trees in old 
Willy’s garden, the cottage stood complete ; the bricklayers, and 
carpenters, and thatchers, and glaziers, and painters were gone. 
The door was again locked, and the place stood silent and peace- 
ful. Then early one autumn evening, just as Jem returned home 
from his work at the farm, the young Squire called at his cot- 
tage, saying, “ I came to ask you and your mother to come and 
see the dear old man’s dwelling. I have had it enlarged ; and 


352 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


you aiways took so much interest in it, that I wish to show it to 
you myself.” 

* Widow Jones put on her bonnet, and walked up the lar.e 
with her son Jem and the young Squire. The sun was set- 
ting, and his parting beams fell upon the cottage-roof, and gilded 
the garden trees. The young Squire crossed the garden-stile — 
the very same that used to be — then turning round, he said with 
a grave smile to Jem, “ Do you remember the dark morning 
when you and I first crossed that stile together ?” “ It was a 

good morning, sir, for him that dwelt within !” said Jem ; and 
on they passed. 

The young Squire unlocked the door, and they went in. 
There was the same look about the open fire-place ; the very 
chair old Willy always sat in, with its crimson cushion, was 
there ; there stood the little table, and the very stool on which 
the young squire used to sit. The bed was gone, and in its 
place stood a bureau, and a larger table, and chairs round the 
room — while flowers in pots bloomed in the window. “ What 
do you think of it?” asked the young Squire, as Jem and his 
mother looked round with wondering eyes, “Tis made wholly 
beautiful, I am sure !” said Jem. “There is not the cottage like 
to it in the place !” said widow Jones. 

“ Then, Jem, what do you say to being my tenant, and bring- 
ing your old mother to live here in comfort ?” 

“ Well, sir, I am afraid I should fail more in the doing than 
the saying, so far as that is concerned — my best wages could 
never clear the rent of such a place as this !” 

“ And I suppose,” said the young Squire, “ you would be as 
hard as my dear old Willy himself, to be persuaded that a house 
could be honestly tenanted without the payment of money ! 
But you need not fear robbing me when I say you shall pay me 
no rent, for I hold this dwelling a sacred place, for many rea- 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


353 


sons, and so long as I can find a faithful heart to inhabit it, I 
mean never to let it for money ! I make it your home now, and 
your mother’s, till such time as you may receive notice to quit 
it — which will not be with my desire, so long as life is granted 
you, if you are enabled to maintain the same character as that 
which wins my regard for you now. You will find the upper 
rooms furnished as well as this. The furniture is all your own : 
l purchased it for you ; the house and land you hold as my 
tenant — in proof of which you may always send up to the Hall 
the first dish of rosy apples you gather from the trees I planted 1 
There is a small field, that was part of the little place when 
bought; I let it to the farmer who had hired it before — old 
Willy having no use for it — but I have now attached it to the 
cottage, and had a gate made into it from the garden : you can 
let it or use it, as you like, only seeing that it is kept in grass, 
and not dug up without my consent. And may old Willy’s 
God grant you to live as blessed and peaceful an old age as 
he enjoyed beneath this roof!” Widow Jones and her son were 
filled with surprise and gratitude. The Squire let them speak 
their broken words of thankfulness, that they might not after- 
ward feel distressed at having said nothing. And then talking 
a few minutes more with them, and telling widow Jones that he 
should request his mother to let her granddaughter be sent to 
them the next day to help them move in, he left them with the 
key in their possession. 

The move was soon effected — where every thing was pre- 
pared beforehand for use and comfort. Widow Jones sold off 
most of her old furniture, saying there was scarce a piece of it 
that was fit so much as to see inside of such a place as the 
Squire had prepared for her Jem ! and there, with Mercy’s 
help, they slept in peace the following night; widow Jones 
only expressed her fear, as to how she could ever bring her 


!54 


MINISTERING- CHILDREN. 


mind to tlie care of such things as stood on every side there 
— look which way you would ! When the young Squire went 
to college in October, he left Jem quietly settled in his new 
abode. The whole village rejoiced in the good fortune of Jem 
— honest Jem ; for Jem was, as may be supposed, a general 
favorite. Was he not always ready to lend a helping hand, 
to tender some kindly office in sickness or trouble, and at all 
times to speak a pleasant word? None but the bad could 
have failed to look kindly on honest Jem. But among the 
general pleasure felt, none was more warmly expressed than 
Mrs. Smith’s; her regard for both mother and son seemed to 
make her pleasure in the event double : and never could honest 
laborer, and faithful servant, and dutiful son, have entered a 
new abode with more pleasant feelings to himself and others 
— than honest Jem, when he called the home of old Willy his 
own ! 

William’s return had been anxiously looked for this year at 
the farm ; but when the time drew near, he wrote word to his 
father, that though very ' sorry to be absent longer, he did feel 
a wish to stay one year more. His uncle, he said, would be 
glad to detain him, and offered to raise his salary again — but 
he did not feel bound on that account ; still there were reasons 
that would 1 make him glad of another year, and though he felt 
the disappointed hope more, he was sure, than any one else 
could, yet, if his father was willing, he certainly should wish to 
stay till the following July, when he hoped to be down in time 
to put the first sickle to the corn. Samson was getting on well 
in his uncle’s business and favor ; Joe was as happy as possh 
hie, and plainly giving satisfaction in the merchant’s office — 
and by next year Joe hoped to have found a ship for Ted 
So the hope of the parents was still deferred.; and a short visit 
from their three sons, all they could that year enjoy. William 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


3f>5 


said nothing as to his reason for wishing to remain longer in 
London ; but every thing seemed going on well with the three 
brothers ; and it was not difficult for fanner Smith to believe 
that to have William to watch over the other two was a great 
security for them. 

In the following winter the old Clergyman died. Much 
anxiety was felt in the village as to whether the Curate would 
remain ; the anxiety of Mrs. Smith equaled that felt by farmer 
Smith and Rose, and great was the universal joy when.it was 
known that Mrs. Clifford had presented the living to the Curate, 
and that now the villagers might hope he would live and die 
among them. The late Clergyman’s widow remained some 
months in the rectory, and every thing went on as before ; till 
one day farmer Smith returned from market with an unusually 
clouded brow. 

“ I never saw you look more like bad news,” said Mrs. Smith, 

what has happened ?” 

Farmer Smith was silent. 

“ Come now,” said Mrs. Smith, “ bad will be none the better 
for waiting ! I may as well know to-day as to-morrow.” 

“ Well, it ’s only the horse,” said farmer Smith, “ I saw a paper 
in the town, and there ’s to be a sale at the rectory, and Black 
Beauty is in the list.” 

u Well,” replied Mrs. Smith, “ he is none of yours now ! and 
you can’t take up with vexing over the sale of other people’s 
creatures. Not but what I am sorry enough myself, but I have 
seen, the good of his going since, and you must think of that. 
If Will laid the first stone of Joe’s good fortune, it was the horse 
helped you set him on it, you could not have done it without 
bim. I am sure I made sin enough of it before, so I have 
reason to bear with it now. I am only thankful the child does 
not know of his going- — he used to count so of seeing the 


356 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


crea are pass by ! but be is better off ; and we, why we must 
take the rough with the smooth as it comes, and be thankful 
there’s One who can make them both ‘ work together for good,’ 
as the Minister tells us.” 

Farmer Smith felt relieved, for he had dreaded the telling his 
wife, or her knowing that the favorite horse was to be put up to 
the highest bidder. The young Squire was absent at college ; 
and many a time farmer Smith thought, had he but been at the 
Hall, there was little doubt that he would have bought the 
favorite, and then the creature would but have exchanged one 
good stable for another, still in sight of his first possessors. 
But the young Squire was away, so there was no prospect but 
that of soon looking his last on Black Beauty. 

No further mention was made of the subject, till a day or 
two after, Ted rushed in exclaiming, “ Mother, where ’s father ? 
there’s to be a sale at the rectory, and Black Beauty’s down in 
the list ! the bill is up on the blacksmith’s shop-^I saw it my- 
self!” 

“ Well, child, the rector’s lady has as much right to sell the 
horse as your father had — it was his then, and it’s hers now.” 

“ What, don’t you mind about it then, mother ?” 

“Mind! child, what’s the use of minding? I have vexed too 
much already for the poor beast ! Don’t you say a word to 
your father about it ; I shall mind that if you do ; let him for- 
get it if he can.” 

“ But, mother, father can’t forget ! How can he forget, when 
he must hear and know all aUout it ?” 

“Well, don’t you say a word to make him think the* more 
you try and make the best of it, not the worst — that’s what you 
have to do.” 

“ I know what I shall do,” replied Ted. “ I shall just write ofl 
and tell William !” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


357 


“ No, that I do forbid said Mrs. Smith, “ for why in the 
world should you want to worry him with it ? do you think he 
has not felt enough about it already ?” 

“ Yes, mother, but then I know William has some money, 1 
am quite sure of that, and a great deal too, for when I asked 
him if he had not last time he was down, he said, ‘ What you 
would call a great deal perhaps !’ so I know he has, and then 
ne could just send and buy Black Beauty away from them 
all!” 

“ That does not signify,” replied Mrs. Smith. “ If William 
has money he has earned it hardly enough, and I would not for 
the world have it taken from him to buy back a horse.” 

“Well, mother, William does not care for money, I am sure, 
for he said when I asked him if he had not got a great deal, 
that he would have given all up over and over again to be only 
yard-boy on father’s farm — if there had been none but himself 
he had to think of! so I am sure he can’t care for money; and 
every body knows how he cared for that horse !” 

“Never mind, child, it’s plain enough he did not wish to be 
after buying him back, or he could have said as easy as not, 
‘If there’s a sale, you might let me know!’ but he never said 
a word about it in any letter, and if we write him word, why it 
will put him up to do it just to please us, and I would not 
have that on any account. I will not have a word written to 
any one of them till the sale is over ; you remember I have 
said it !” 

“ Well, mother, if I must not speak to father nor William, I 
declare I will go off to the sale and see after the horse myself ! 
and I will speak a word to whoever buys him — let it be who it 
will, and if it’s no more than to tell them what our Minister told 
us in our class — it may stick by them, and fright them a little, 
if they don’t use him as they should ! I would not have him 


358 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


bought, and led off, and no one to speak a word for him for anv 
thing!” 

“ Very well,” replied Mrs. Smith, “ so long as you keep to what 
our Minister says, you are safe enough.” And Ted, satisfied at 
having at last fixed upon something he might do, grew more 
composed on the subject, and when alone with his father, he 
said, “ Never you mind, father, about Black Beauty’s being sold 
off again, I have just got a word to say to whoever buys him 
that may be of good use to the horse : I mean to be up at the 
sale, and see all about it, and then I can- tell you, father !” And 
the thought of this seasonable address that was to be made to 
the buyer of Black Beauty, with the care necessary in compos- 
ing and recomposing it to make it as brief and forcible as pos- 
sible, changed the prospect of the approaching sale into an event 
of effort and interest, rather than of distress to Ted. 

The morning of the sale arrived. “ Mother,” said Ted, “ I 
must be off now, and I want my best jacket; no one will care for 
me if I don’t look something respectable.” So Mrs. Smith 
brought Ted his best jacket, which was of dark blue, having 
been his particular request as most suitable for one who was 
soon to be a sailor ; arrayed in this, with his round straw hat on 
the side of his head, and his little cane in his hand, he set off to 
the sale. “ Never you mind, father !” said Ted, as he stopped to 
speak to his parent on the green slope from the house, “I am off 
to the sale, just to do what can be done, and then I will come 
home and tell you. And there ’s sure to be good come of it, 
lather, though we may never know it, for the Minister says, when 
the right thing is done, if people don’t think of it at first, they 
will sooner or later ; and I know just what he said about those 
who have to do with dumb creatures ! so never you mind, filth er, 
I am now off for the sale. Tell mother not to think about dinner 
for me, there’s no saying when I shall be back.” “Take care 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


369 


what you are after ?” said the father. But off ran the minister 
ing boy to watch over Black Beauty, and speak the word of 
warning he had heard from the Minister’s lips, to whoever might 
purchase the horse. 

It was a heavy day to farmer Smith — this second sale of the 
favorite horse, close by his own door, and he not able to pur- 
chase it back, nor now to have any control over the hands into 
which it passed, troubled him not a little. The creature had 
been born and reared on his farm, had played with his children, 
fed from their hands, he had himself broken it in for use, and it 
would leave its food or its pasture at any time at the first sound 
of his voice — the after-tie may be strong between master and 
steed, but it is on the farm where the creature is born, and 
reared, and trained, that the feeling becomes all but a family 
bond ! 

Mrs. Smith took the event more quietly ; her heart had been 
broken up by the bitter anguish of remorse — remorse for years 
of pride of heart and self-will; and though the balm of Heavenly 
love may bind up such broken hearts, yet must the surface- 
changes of life have but comparatively little power to distress 
— where sorrow so far deeper still lies within. Yet Mrs. Smith 
did feel it ; and the point in which it touched her most, was 
her sense of what the sorrow of little Tim would have been to 
have had his favorite sold away a second time, where he could 
never see him pass. But Mrs. Smith spoke not of this ; she 
1 ad learned to endure in silence, conscious of the past — when 
Ter personal annoyances were always made a subject of dis- 
tress for others ; so she now made an effort to hide her own 
feeling, and comfort those around her. Rose saw her father’s 
grave expression of face, and stepping out beside him, after din- 
ner, said, “Never mind, father, I think it’s better the horse 
should be taken quite away before Will comes home, or he 


360 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


would always be seeing him, and then you know, father, perhaps 
he could not help wishing for him, and that would be wrong 
now he is sold away ; and it would be vexing to William, and to 
Joe— df he knew that William could not help wishing him back : 
so I think it ’s best, father !” 

“ So it is, Rose, I dare say, if I could but be sure of his being 
well off.” 

“ But, father, God made the creatures ; and when we can’t 
take care of them any longer we must leave them to Him. I 
am sure, father, you did the best you could, and then if we don’t 
feel satisfied, that looks as if we could not trust God Almighty ; 
and you know it says in the Bible, the sparrow does not fall to 
the ground without our Heavenly Father !” 

“ So it does, Rose ; I will think of that. Oh, if my mother 
could but hear how you comfort me ! But I have a hope now 
that I shall show you to her some day in Heaven, and tell her 
how her prayers were all answered, though she never knew it. 7 ’ 
So farmer Smith passed on with livelier step to his men, and 
Rose went back to iron at her mother’s side. 

Ted had not returned to dinner; and now his mother, each 
time she paused in her work and set the iron down upon the 
stand, gave a glance from the window. 

“ I can’t think what the child is stopping after, all this time !” 
at length said Mrs. Smith. 

“ I dare say Black Beauty came near the end of the sale,” re- 
plied Rose, “ and he said he should not stir from the place till he 
saw what became of him.” 

Mrs. Smith said no more ; only looking from time to time 
along the distant road. Four o’clock — five o’clock passed, and 
Rose prepared the tea ; the ironing was finished and all cleared 
away, and the table was set, the toast made, Mr. Smith came in. 
but no Ted appeared. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


3bi 

a I can. not think what the boy is after !” said Mrs. Smith. “ 1 
wish you would just step and see ; and tell him he must come 
home. I would not have him stay after dark among a set of 
horse-dealers for any thing !” 

Mr. Smith took his hat and went ; and Mrs. Smith watched 
at the window — watched till she saw him returning alone. 
“ Where ’s the child ?” asked Mrs. Smith, “ I wish enough you 
had brought him !” 

“ I don’t think he will take any harm,” replied farmer Smith. 
“ I saw Beetlebright, the horse-dealer, there, and I asked him to 
have an eye on the boy — who was in the very thick of it 
among them all, looking on as earnestly as possible ; I could 
not catch a sight from his eye ; and Beetlebright told me the 
horse was coming on directly, so I came off, for I could not stand 
to see him led up. But I was not sorry I went, for I heard some 
good news.” 

“ Did you ?” asked M r s. Smith ; and her tone betrayed how 
far she was from indifference on the subject. 

Yes, Beetlebright told me he knew who had given orders to 
have the horse purchased, and I might be sure he would have a 
good master, if ever he had !” 

“ Well, that V a comfort,” said Mrs. Smith, “I am sure I am 
thankful enough ! Did he say who ?” 

“ No, he turned off at that ; and I thought no doubt he would 
not be free of speaking beforehand, and I heard them call for 
the horse, so I came off.” 

Upon this, Mrs. Smith, and Rose and her father sat down to 
tea, but with more feeling of mind than hunger of body. 

“ Just you look here, Miss Rose !” said Patience, stepping 
quickly up to the door of the family kitchen, which always stood 
open. 

All ran to the window, being ready for any alarm. There 
16 


362 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


came the boy, in blue jacket and straw hat, mounted on Bhich 
Beauty — as large as life, and as steady as Time, stepping down 
the old familiar hill — the home road to the farm, which he had 
never trod since the day that Joe led him away. All hurried 
out from the door ; Rose flew down the sloping green to the 
valley at the foot of the hill, where Black Beauty stopped of 
his own accord, and arched his neck, and put his nose into her 
hand. 

“ Now, Rose, that will do ; do n’t you see I want to be off 
to father ?” said Ted. And off Black Beauty started on the ac- 
customed canter along the path up the greensward that led to 
the wicket-gate of the garden. 

“ Do go and see,” said Mrs. Smith, “ what the boy is after !” 

But farmer Smith stood still with Mrs. Smith beside the gar- 
den-gate, at which, in a minute more Black Beauty made a 
stand. 

“ What in the world have you been after, boy ? What are 
you doing with the horse ?” asked Mrs. Smith ; while Rose came 
breathless from her run, and stood beside. But now Black 
Beauty’s turn was come to give expression to his feeling : he 
stood again upon home ground, close to his master, who had 
never spoken to him since the parting day; he rested his head 
upon his master’s shoulder, stepped from side to side, reached 
down his nose and courted the caress first of one and then the 
other — while all seemed to fail in its power to express the noble 
creature’s joy. The men were turning home from the farm, la- 
den with the implements and baskets, and they gathered won- 
dering round. Jem and the yard-boy and Patience too, were 
there all looking — intent on the mystery ; while Mrs. Smith 
hastily repeated her inquiry. 

“ What in the world are you after, boy ? Make haste, I say 
and speak it out P 










^^7 ■mfrrrri X 7»U * Ji 
7*^-» -JSS V2%ft»^0vg 

1 'Jj/V^lv* | i i t 





M. C. 


p. 362. 




















































































• , 






4 











V 


















MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


363 


“Now, mother,” said Ted, seated like a chieftain on his charg- 
er, “ don’t look as if you thought it must be wrong because I 
have done it !” 

“ Done what ?” said Mrs. Smith, “ what have you done ? 

“ Why brought the horse home, mother !” 

“ But how came you by him ? that ’s what I want to know 1” 

“ Well, mother, I did not steal him — though you look as if 
you were afraid I had ; nor beg him, nor borrow him, he was 
given me right away for father as I stood there !” 

“ Who by ?” asked farmer Smith, anxiously and earnestly. 

“Why, I don’t know, father, only it was the man who 
bought him, so I suppose he had a right to give him if he 
liked.” 

“ I am afraid there ’s some mistake in it,” said farmer Smith, 
seriously — looking along the road to see if explanation, clearer 
than his boy’s, might be coming there — but no cne was in 
sight. 

“ Well — now, father, you listen, and I will just tell you,” said 
Ted, still seated on the creature — -yet restless with its joy. “ As 
soon as ever they led up the horse there was a man came and 
stood near where I was. He seemed, I thought, to be thinking 
of buying, and I wished he might ; for I liked the look of him. 
Well, they kept bidding, and I got in such a way, for the man 
seemed ever so many times as if he would let him go, and he 
kept so quietly at it, that at last I did not know who had the 
1 o' se ; but I found he was gone down to some one, so I kept 
asking, ‘Who has him? who has him?’ and they pointed to 
this man. So I watched my opportunity when he was pretty 
well alone, and then I went up and just said what I had to say 
to him ! Well, he listened, and when I had done, he said, ‘You 
come along with me, and see what you think of my usage ? 
so I went with him, -and he never said a word more, but ud 


364 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


packed this saddle and bridle — only you see, father, wliat a sad- 
dle it is !” said Ted, tumbling himself off and lifting up the lappetSj 
more thoroughly to display the saddle’s excellence 

“ "Well, child, what then ?” asked his mother. 

“ Why, when he had done putting them on, and seeing they 
were all right, he said, ‘Now, little master, have you a mind to 
ride ?’ and before I knew what to say, he had lifted me up. O 
how the good creature did paw the ground when I was once up- 
on him ! he knew me as well as any thing ! and thought he was 
coming off here, I know he did !” 

“ Well, child, but go on !” said Mrs. Smith. 

“ Dear me, mother, I don’t know any more ! only when the 
man had lifted me on, he said, ‘ You go and preach your sermon 
tc your father, for he is the owner of this horse now ; and you 
tell him that if he does not know how to take care of him, he has 
a son that can teach him ! And I will be down after you pres- 
ently, when I have settled some other business.’ ” 

“ Was it Beetlebright, the horse-dealer ?” asked farmer Smith. 

“ I don’t know, father, but I think I have seen him before in 
the town.” 

“ But did not he say a word of who sent him ?” 

“ Why, he sent him, father ! he bought him, and sent him !” 

“ Nonsense, child ; a horse-dealer would never make me such 
a present !” 

“ Here ’s some one now coming down the road, sir,” said one 
of the men. They all watched ; and farmer Smith soon descried 
the substantial figure of Beetlebright the horse-dealer, who made 
his way tc the assembled group. 

“ T am afraid,” said farmer Smith, stepping forward, “ we are 
under some little mistake in stopping the horse at our gate !” 

“ Not a bit of it,” replied the horse-dealer, “ if you can trust 
that hand-writing, and I think it ’s as good and honest a hand as 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


365 


I have seen for many a day.” So saying the horse-dealer gave 
a sealed letter to farmer Smith, who opened it, and read : 

“ Dear Father, 

“ It was my sorrow to cost you your favorite horse ; you did 
not spare him, neither did William, and now it is my joy to 
have. earned him back again. I have been so afraid I should 
not get money enough before — for some reason or other — he 
might be sold off ! I have never spent $0 much as a sixpence, 
no, nor a penny, I think, that I could do without ; and now I 
have twenty pounds in hand, over and above what you had for 
him, so I am sure of it now ! I hope I am thankful, I am sure 
I think I am. Don’t let a word be said to William, but when 
he comes home let the horse be taken to meet him — be sure you 
don’t let him know till then ! My love to mother, and Rose, 
and Ted. Your affectionate and dutiful son, 

“Joseph Smith.” 

Farmer Smith put the letter into his wife’s hand, and turned 
to the horse to hide his feeling. 

“ Well, I suppose it ’s all right ?” said the horse-dealer. “ Here ’s 
my commission too, with the order for the new saddle and 
bridle;” and he put an open letter into farmer Smith’s hand. 
“As to what he says upon paying my charge on the commission, 
that’s all paid already in the pleasure of the job — I can say I 
never had a pleasanter ; and if such a lad does not turn out well, 
i don’t know who will.” 

“ Who ’s done it, father ?” asked Rose. 

“ Why Joe himself!” said her father; “ he says he has never 
spent a sixpence he could help, for fear he might not have the 
money ready when an opportunity of buying the creatine might 
come !” 


366 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Wei) done, Joe !” said Ted. “ I ’ll be up to you, when I *m 
a sailor, though !” 

“ Why, it’s mastei Joe ! it’s master Joe has done it himself”* 
was repeated among the men ; and casting a pleased expressive 
look at the father of such a son, they began to disperse to their 
homes, to tell them how master Joe had never rested till he 
brought back the black horse to his father’s stable ! Mrs. Smith 
gave the letter to her husband, and turned within doors, glad at 
that moment to escape observation. 

“ Well, you will be thinking, I suppose, of leading him off to 
his stable ?” said the horse-dealer. “ I wish you joy of him, and 
twenty times more of such a son ! And then I will just step in 
with you, for I am altogether done up with my day’s work.” 
Ted led the horse, and farmer Smith followed, and Jem to un- 
saddle him, and Rose followed also. Ted made all haste to give 
the horse a feed, but the creature, while he stooped to receive it, 
looked round, as if something were missing. “Come, Black 
Beauty, eat !” said Ted, impatient to give the first food ; but the 
horse, while he stooped his head in obedience, still lifted his 
large eye, and looked to the door. 

“Look, father, what’s the matter?” said Ted, “Black Beauty 
won’t eat!” 

“ Never mind,” said Rose, “ do n’t say a word, he is watching 
for little Tim ! Here, put his food in the manger, he will eat 
when we are gone ; and come in to tea, do, Ted ; you have had 
nothing since breakfast I” 

So Ted spread out the food in the manger, and followed his 
father and the horse-dealer, with Rose, in to tea. 

“ What ’s the matter, mother ?” asked Ted, as his mother 
stooped to tuck him up in his little bed that night. 

“Nothing, dear,” answered his mother ; “only I was thinking 
how good Joe had been !” 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


867 


* Well, mother, I would wait till Joe was bad, before I cried 
about him !” said Ted. 

“ Ah, Ted,” replied his mother, “ perhaps you may know some 
day what it is to shed a tear for goodness you don’t deserve ; for 
the Lord’s goodness, if not for man’s !” 

“ But was that all you were thinking of, mother ?” asked Ted, 
concerned at the sight of his mother’s tears. 

“ Well, I was thinking of little Tim, and how delighted he 
would have been to see the horse come back.” 

“ Well, mother, you need not cry about him ; we read in our 
class to the Minister how they ride on white horses in Heaven ! 
and he is better off there, mother.” 

“ So he is, dear !” replied Mrs. Smith ; and kissing her boy, 
she left him to sleep on his pillow, and turned away to think 
of her children on Earth, and her youngest in glory in 
Heaven. 

Then came the warm bright harvest month, July ; and before 
the sickle was put to the corn, William was to return. And 
Joe got leave of a few days’ absence also, having obtained a 
berth for Ted on board a merchant-ship. The two brothers 
traveled outside the coach. Oh, what a day was that for 
William ! all his best hopes fulfilled, and he returning, after so 
many years of absence, to live at home again and farm his 
father’s land ! Chestnut was put in the gig ; and Ted was to 
ride Black Beauty for William, with the new saddle and bridle. 
What care had been taken to rub down the glossy coat of Black 
Beauty, to comb his mane, and show him to best effect ! All 
day the farm had been in commotion : Patience scrubbing and 
cleaning the always clean house ; Mrs. Smith baking her 
largest variety of best approved viands ; Rose hanging the new 
little curtains she had made at the window of what was now 
to be William’s room ; men and boys getting all things in their 


868 


MINISTERING JHILDREN. 


best order— in preparation for Master William’s return ! while 
Ted devoted himself exclusively and entirely to the grooming of 
Black Beauty. Then came the starting-time, when farmer Smith 
drove oft in the gig, and Ted — in blue jacket and straw hat — on 
Black Beauty, who ambled and capered along as if he knew it 
to be a festive occasion. 

“ Ah ! you good old fellow,” said Ted, “ you little think who 
you will have to bring home again with you !” 

Mrs. Smith watched from the door till the gig and the horse 
were out of sight, then turned within to hasten preparations with 
Rose. The coach was still miles away, when the gig and Black 
Beauty made their halt at the next village inn ; but after long 
waiting, a cloud of dust came in sight — then the four gray horses, 
and men’s hats on the top of the coach. Now Ted had made 
Black Beauty stand full in view across the road, while he con- 
cealed himself behind the gig. 

“ There ’s father !” said William, and standing up he seemed 
ready to spring from the top of the coach, before ever it stopped 
at the inn. And then, in a minute more, he added, “ Why, Joe, 
I declare, if there is n’t Black Beauty waiting for some one ! how 
unfortunate, just when father’s come there !” 

“ 0, father’s got over all that now,” said Joe, “and does not 
mind the sight of him the least.” 

William looked at Joe as if he doubted not only the fact, but 
also that Joe could suppose forgetfulness possible ; but he said 
nothing, and the coach stopped, and William was the first to set 
foot on the ground, and he wrung his father’s hand with a grasp 
that said more than words ; and then — quite unable to resist the 
temptation, turned to speak to Black Beauty. The faithful crea 
ture knew his young master, and had chafed and stamped after 
William’s descent from the coach till he turned and laid his hand 
lpon his neck. 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


369 


“Why Ted, my boy, what are you doing here?” said William, 
suddenly perceiving his young brother. 

“ Holding your horse for you, sir !” 

“ 0 Ted, Ted !” said William, half reproachfully , “ do you 
know who the horse is waiting for ?” 

“ For you, sir !” 

“ Come, come !” said William, “no joking about that ! Now, 
father, if Joe has the luggage, we’ll be off.” 

Joe had been engaged in securing what William had seemed 
to have forgotten, and then stepping to Black Beauty’s side, Joe 
took the bridle from Ted, and putting it in William’s hand, said, 
“ Your merchant-brother, William, has bought him back — the 
first-fruits of his earnings !” 

“ You don’t mean it !” said William.. 

“ Yes, Will, but I do ; and none can say he is the worse for 
being twice bought and sold for the sake of a brother !” Wil- 
liam looked at Joe — and that look was enough, but still he 
said in a low tone, “ 0 Joe, I little thought of this, when you 
were so bent on saving !” And he sprang on Black Beauty, 
who knew his rider, and gently rearing, darted forward on — by 
the well-known lanes, past the old familiar fields where every 
tree and hedge-row seemed to greet his return ; on — out of 
sight and sound of the tardier steed behind him, swiftly on, his 
horse bore him, to the home of his heart and toil ! There, in 
that sweet summer evening, his mother stood and watched with 
Rose, not on the door-step, but beside the garden-gate ; while 
Rover, at the first cadence of Black Beauty’s measured trot, 
bounded down the sloping greensward, and hearing his master’s 
greeting whistle, tried once and again to leap upon his horse, 
and welcome him there. But on -Black Beauty bore his rider — 
till he sprang from the saddle to meet his mother’s kiss and teai 
of welcome, and fold his sister to his heart; while Black Beamy 


370 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


stood uciield beside him, looking on as if with sympathizing 
feelings. 

It was finally decided by force of William’s and Joe’s per 
suasions, that as there was yet a fortnight at least before harvest, 
farmer and Mrs. Smith should accompany Joe and Ted on their 
return to London, to have the satisfaction of seeing Ted’s cap- 
tain and ship, and for their own refreshment and interest; 
while William and Rose kept the farm and house at home. 
So they went up accordingly, Ted in high spirits at the prospect 
before him, with William’s full approval of the attainments he 
had made ; and neither father nor mother harassed by any home 
anxieties to lessen the pleasure of their visit. The novelty of 
the complete change was very beneficial to both farmer and 
Mrs. Smith. They were most kindly entertained by their chil- 
dren’s friends ; the old merchant receiving them at his country- 
house to dinner, and promising Mrs. Smith the first opportunity 
that offered, to come down and spend a day or two at the farm, 
adding that he should take care to bring her son Joseph with 
him, for he was quite sure he was a son that never went down 
to his home without a welcome for himself and all he took 
with him ! Mrs. Smith confessed that London was not so bad 
as she expected, and might do very well for people not used to 
the country ! Joe insisted on paying all the expenses of the 
visit, which he said was a pleasure his labor had earned — and 
that having bought back Black Beauty, had his parents in 
London, and obtained a place on shipboard for Ted — he should 
begin life again with fresh spirit, but with, he still hoped, the 
Bame principles. Ted was left with Joe and Samson, ready to 
take his place on board ship as soon as necessary ; and farmer 
and Mrs. Smith returned, greatly refreshed and benefited by the 
inspiriting change. 

On the evening of the day after their return, William asked 


MINISTERING CHILDREN.. 


871 


both his father and mother to take a walk across the farm with 
him and Rose, to which they agreed and started; but Rose 
seemed to find it difficult to keep his meditative pace ; while 
William, with gravest composure, walked and talked at their 
side. Rose was always before them, leading the way, till at 
last they came in sight of the two white little cottages with 
guldens stretching at either end, built by farmer Smith’s mother, 
and lost by him through means of the only loan he ever bor- 
rowed. Rose still led the way, till her parents had nearly 
reached them, then turning round, she looked all expectation at 
William. 

“ O you secret-keeper !” said he, “ you woul#tell it twenty times 
over ! I shall know how to trust you again !” 

“ Why, Will, I never said a word !” replied Rose, coming to 
his side. 

“ No, nor much need you should !” he answered, smiling. And 
then turning to his father he said, “ There, father, it was grand- 
mother’s cottages kept me this last year in London !” 

“ Your grandmother’s cottages ! What do you mean ?” 

“ Because, father, when I went away from home, I came the 
last thing and looked at them, and I resolved I never would 
leave business in London — if I could help it, till I had bought 
them back for you ! I got put from it twice, with getting Joe 
ap and Samson, but I kept on at my aim. Joe and I shared 
one room as we did at home, and no one would have believed, 
perhaps, for how little we managed ; but I found last year the 
man had no mind to part with them, and I was forced to offer 
a higher sum than I had by me, so the purchase was fixed for 
this year — and I stayed on to earn t. And now, mother, if 
farming quite fails, there ’s a cottage rent-free for you and father 
and Rose, and another beside it for me— and my hands will be 
able, I should hope, with God’s blessing, to ea-u bread for us all! 


372 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


They are bought in father’s name, and are as much his as* 
they ever were. I know that was the best sheaf I could 
reap and bring home for him and for you 1 ” 

This was true — no earthly gift could perhaps have io met 
and gratified farmer Smith. His mother’s cottages, left to 
him by will, lost by debt, and now restored by his son — 
effacing the memory of the loss to him so painful, were a 
treasured possession indeed ! 

“ There’s a refuge then, at least, now, mother!” said 
William, as his mother turned silently to take his arm home 
“ Yes, Will, my son’s refuge for me on Earth : and, I trust 
my Saviour’s in Heaven !” 

4 So William, reamed to his home, and began life as a 
farmer again. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


“ God setteth the solitary in families.” — Psalm lrvii 6. 


“ For with the same measure that ye mete withal, it shall he measured to you again 7 
— Luras vt 88. 



I HE sun rose bright one summer morning, over the misty vil- 


lage, over the Hall with its long verdant slopes and spreading 
woods, over the farm with its barns and stacks and sleeping cat- 
tle, over the lonely cottage of Jem — where fruitfulness and 
luxuriance in trees, and vegetables, and flowers, bore witness to 
“ the hand of the diligent which maketh rich.” The village was 
still asleep, but Jem was in his garden, “ tighting it up” as he 
called it, though all looked tight enough, and neither leaf nor 
petal, tree nor flower, seemed there, on that bright morning, to 
show one trace of Earth’s decay. Jem was not watching the 
sun to tell the time at which to start off to tend his sheep, this 
was no day of pastoral work for Jem, but a day of rest, and 
gladness, and blessing — it was the wedding-day of honest faith- 
ful Jem. Nearly two years he had held his new abode; his 
mother grew more feeble with advancing age, and Jem thought 
to add comfort to her life, as well as his own, by the event of 
that day. So thought Jem’s aged mother also ; and when the 
sun sent forth his first golden beam through her lattice- window 
on that bright morning, she had left her pillow, and was prepar- 
ing to put all things “ straight” within doors : and all the while 
she stirred about with her best strength, she said within her- 
self, “ How tight and clean she will keep all when she takes 


874 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


charge ! I know she will, and comfort me up too, and learn 
me a deal more of Heavenly things than I can come at 
now !” 

At the Hall, Mercy was up, before the lark had risen to 
chant his first glad song at Heaven’s gate, and now she has- 
tened down the misty road, with her bridesmaid’s attire in a 
handkerchief on her arm, to help her grandmother put all 
things straight, and then to hasten on to stand beside the 
bride. 

Mrs. Smith might have been up since midnight — for all the 
sun could tell when he first looked across the farm and glanced 
in radiance through its uncurtained window-panes. Rose was 
moving, working, speaking, as quick again as usual — as if all 
the labor of that day had to be completed before the day had 
well begun. Farmer Smith was out in the freshening morning 
air, giving directions to his men ; and William was helping the 
yard-boy sweep the garden walks, and the path down the sloping 
greensward. And where was Patience — the faithful servant al- 
ways at hand when work was to be done, the faithful servant 
through years of trial, sorrow, peace — where was Patience? 
Kneeling alone in her chamber, looking up through its small 
window to the rosy sky above her head, thinking on the past, 
the present, and the future, till tears overflowed her eyes, and 
she hid her face and wept ; then enshrining all her thoughts 
and feelings in one fervent thanksgiving and prayer, she went 
down to the family below. This was her wedding-day, and she 
the affianced bride of Jem. 

“ There now, child, we don’t want you standing about in the 
way !” exclaimed Mrs. Smith, as she saw Patience looking on, at 
a loss how to act without being told. “ Go and be after an\ 
thing you may want to get done,” added Mrs. Smith. So Pa- 
tience had her time to herself. Rose at last went to put on her 


375 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

bridesmaid’s dress ; and Mercy came down to the farm in her’s — 
and she dressed the bride ; and William put on his Sunday suit 
for he was to walk by the side of the bride and give her awa\ 
in the Church — for she had no relative on Earth to stand beside 
her there. But before they set out, Mrs. Smith said to Patience 
alone, “ Patience, girl, I know they say black should never be 
worn at a wedding ! but you won’t be against my wearing that 
black silk, as I always do on Sundays, for the sake of little Tim \ 
Not but what I know his robes are as white as the driven snow, 
but I did not like for myself any other color in silk, and being 
for him — it could not tell of any evil to come ! I know you 
won’t mind, but I thought I would just name it beforehand.” 
Patience answered with a tear ; for she too had been thinking 
of the child, and how he had been her little comforter there, 
and how he loved Jem! and she could not help wishing he could 
be with them then, though still she knew it was better to 
* have entered Heaven — safe from all changes, and sorrow and 
sin. 

Widow Jones did not go to the church ; nor would she com 
sent to lock up the cottage and come to the wedding-feast at 
the farm. She said she was wanted “ to keep things straight at 
home whether she knew some mischievous spider to be lurk- 
ing in some hole or corner, all ready to disfigure the pattern of 
neatness she had finished olf within ; or whether she wished to 
be there to give Jem and his bride a motherly greeting at the 
threshold of their home, she did not say ; the only reason she 
gave was the “keeping things straight,” and this one word 
“straight” with widow Jones admitted a meaning so full, and 
application so endless, that it often might baffle the learning of 
most to discover the precise point she had in view under this 
word of universal use ! And it proved well that widow Jones 
did keep her resolve to “ bide in the house,” for reasons faj 


376 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

more important than keeping dust or spiders at distance, with 
apron or broom. 

A dependable man and boy were in waiting at the farm, and 
no sooner was the bridal party off for the church, than Mrs. 
Smith said to her husband, “Now, don’t lose a minute, for 
things are quicker done than you would think for, and they 
will be back in no time !” So saying, Mrs. Smith hastened 
off with farmer Smith and the dependable man and boy to the 
further barn, where the wedding-gifts had been placed in readi- 
ness by William that morning. Mrs. Smith looked upon them 
with fresh satisfaction. She had said, “ The girl has served me 
like a child, and she shall not be sent away like a stranger !” 
And no one who looked into the barn that morning, could doubt 
Mrs. Smith having kept her resolve. First stood the gift of her 
mistress to Patience, the prettiest of young cows, as black as a 
raven’s wing, with one star of white on its broad forehead. 
Rose had named it “ Black Beauty,” after the favorite horse. ' 
Mrs. Smith said, that as a bit of meadow- land went with the 
cottage, there could be no reason why Patience should not have 
a cow of her own, and sell milk to the poor ! which was a thing, 
Mrs. Smith said, that wanted to be more done than it was ; she 
was thankful that for her part she could say, that nevei with 
her knowledge, had the poor been sent away with an empty 
can, when they came up to buy a little milk for their families 1 
Mrs. Smith knew how to give generously when she did give, 
and beside the young cow, stood a new milk-pail, two milk 
pans, a cream-pot, and skimmer ; all these were the wedding- 
gifts of her mistress to Patience. But then Patience had been 
no common servant — the nurse and comforter of little Tim, hei 
mistress’s own devoted nurse — when infection and death were 
near, and in her service faithful in all things — this had Patience 
been, and her mistress was resolved to testify her sense of it 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


871 


Next stood the gift of Rose to Patience : a pair of hens of per- 
fect whiteness, with a black cock, all reared on the farm. The 
fowls were in a basket, chiefly constructed by the hands of the 
sailor-boy, his mother bestowed on Patience, having another 
of a different kind herself ; for she said, that to leave her sailor- 
boy out, would look as if he were no longer one of themselves ! 
In a corner of the barn a little black pig was inclosed, waiting 
for his removal to fresh quarters — this was farmer Smith’s gift 
to his servant Jem. Added to these was a new barrow, made 
at the village wheelwright’s, a famous substitute for the one that 
Jem had used from a child, and which the largest nails would 
now hardly avail to hold together — this was William’s present 
to his favorite farm-servant. But these were not all : Mrs. 
Smith had a maxim which she often used, applying it variously 
as occasion served, and this was the maxim, “There’s no good 
in remembering one to forget another!” Accordingly Mrs. 
Smith said she was not going to overlook Jem, as if she had 
altogether forgotten the value to be set by his services. What 
she had saved by his care in eggs and young fowls when he 
was yard-boy, she said she knew pretty well by the loss when 
his master took him away to make him a shepherd — she had 
never been able to get up, or keep, such a poultry-yard since. 
But Jem should see his mistress had not forgotten him ! And 
there, in demonstration of the fact, stood a small box containing 
household linen, all bleached and made by Mrs. Smith. In this 
same box was a shawl from Samson, chosen and bought by him 
in his uncle’s shop, and sent down from London for Patience. 
While, from all the gr^at city could offer, Joe had chosen for 
Jem an engraving of the Good Shepherd, with the sheep 
gathered near Him, when He said to Peter, “Feed my 
Lambs and having it put in a frame, with a glass before 
it, Joe sent it down lo gleam from the cottage walls of the 


378 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


village shepherd, with its light of holy and blessed remem- 
brance. 

No sooner did Mrs. Smith with hasty step arrive at the barn, 
than the whole array of gifts began to receive their dismissal. 
Farmer Smith haltered the young cow and led her himself ; 
while a tumbril received all the rest, as nicely adjusted as the 
case admitted of — the boy down in the midst securing the little 
black pig, the box in the barrow, and the fowls on the top of 
the box, while the milk-pail with its bright rims, the dairy pans, 
cream-pot, and skimmer, were all settled in ; and the tumbril 
drove off. 

Farmer Smith arrived first with the young black cow — 
widow Jones in the midst of her business within, was still look- 
ing from time to time from the window, to see what might be 
happening without. And now she saw farmer Smith at the 
stile with the cow. “ Why, if there isn’t our master himself 
and that handsome black heifer 1” said widow Jones, with sur- 
prise ; and making haste from the door, she got down to the 
stile just as farmer Smith had succeeded in removing it to lead 
in the cow. “ Well, neighbor,” said kind farmer Smith, in his 
most cheerful, pleasant tone, — which tone always rose up as 
by instinct when his words had to do with a gift or any token 
of goodwill, — >“ Well, neighbor, I am sure I wish you joy of 
to-day; though you will just please to remember that you are 
growing rich by making us poorer ! I don’t mean because the 
black heifer is to stay as yours, instead of ours — no, I don’t 
mean it of any thing money could have bought — but for her 
who’s your daughter by this time, if the Minister kept to his 
hour at the church. I made her servant-girl to my wife, who 
must choose for herself now — for I am sure I can’t hcpe to 
please her so well any more !” Widow Jones stood in silent 
surprise. The black heifer for • them ! Could it possibly bo, 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


379 


that fanner Smith had led down the handsomest of all his young 
cows for her children ! “ Come, then,” said farmer Smith, “ there ’s 
plenty more things on the way, let’s make one safe at a time. 
You tell Patience, her mistress has sent her this cow, with hex 
love and her blessing; and there’s a milk-pail and pans, and i 
cream-pot and skimmer, that Patience may sell milk to tlie 
poor; for it’s a fact in this village, that the poor often don’t 
know how to get half a pint, and I wish that some one would 
name it to the Squire, that he might just speak to his tenants 
about it !” 0 with *what wondering eyes of delight and of joy 

poor old widow Jones looked on, while her master, as she 
always called farmer Smith, led up the black heifer and made 
her fast in the warmly-thatched shed ! But there was no time 
allowed for expressing her feeling ; fanner Smith hastened 
back to the stile where the tumbril was waiting, and widow 
Jones hastened after, and then she stood by while its stores 
were unloaded. Out tumbled the little black pig, and the boy 
jumped down just in time to secure him : then the milk-pail 
and milk-pans, the cream-pot and skimmer ; the box tied 
round with a cord and directed ; the handsome white and black 
fowls ; and, last of all, the new barrow for Jem. Farmer Smith 
gave the messages one by one to widow Jones, who stood listen- 
ing beside him in the midst of the things ; there she stood in 
her short-sleeved, half-length, large-flowered, print bedgown, 
bought new for the wedding occasion, and put on first by her 
that day, her snow-white kerchief beneath it with its thick folds 
in front, and her single-crimped bordered cap with a scarlet 
ribbon pinned round it — saving all need of strings, and hei 
white apron tied on, all ready for whatever on that summer-day 
might befall ; there she stood wiping away with the coiner of 
her apron her fast-starting tears, as she listened to farmer Smith 
and looked on the gifts — all telling the praises, so sweet to her, 


380 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


of her Jem and his bride ! “The box,” said farmer Smith, “will 
speak for itself when it ’s opened, which need not be done till 
your children return. The fowls are from Rose, her present tc 
Patience ; my wife says Patience will know who made the 
basket, and she is to keep it for our poor sailor boy’s sake. My 
son William had the barrow made on purpose for Jem : he says 
Jem is not to think too much about him in the gift, for he had 
it made as much in remembrance of our poor little Tim, who 
always took such a fancy to Jem : my son had a wish that Jem 
should have something to serve him through life, in remembrance' 
of the child. But T must be off, for my wife entirely set her 
mind on my being and knowing the things safe here, before 
they returned from the church.” So farmer Smith saw the little 
black pig secure in the stye ; and then leaving the man and 
the boy to help in with the rest, he hastened back again to the 
farm. 

Mrs. Smith was impatiently waiting her husband’s return, and 
losing more time by her looks from window and door than she 
gained by her haste in all things beside. But now seeing him 
ascending the hill, she was satisfied ; she heard of the safe bestow- 
ment of all, the messages delivered as she had given them in 
charge ; and then bringing out farmer Smith’s Sunday coat, she 
waited in something more like quiet expectation for the bridal 
party’s return from the church. 

And now in the distance the party came in sight. Jem led 
his bride, Rose and Mercy followed after, and William beside 
them. Mrs. Smith gave one hasty glance into her parlor tc 
be assured all was right there, then hastened to the door-step 
to receive them. Farmer Smith held open the small garden- 
gate, and gave them his hand, and blessed them as they entered ; 
then smiled on Rose and Mercy, and shut the gate after them 
all. There stood Mrs. Smith, in her Sunday gown of black silk, 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


881 


upright on the door-step, hut when Jem led up his bride, she 
stooped her tall figure, and kissed the cheek of Patience, and 
led her in herself, as with a mother’s feeling. The water was 
boiling, so the tea was soon made ; the coffee was ready before- 
hand; and full of gentlest cheerfulness they all sat down to 
the wedding-breakfast. Mrs. Smith poured out the tea, and 
Rose the coffee : Jem arid his bride sat on one side of the 
table ; and Mercy between farmer Smith and William on the 
other. No pains had been spared in preparing the feast : a 
plum-cake, black with richness, was placed in the center ; it 
was not frosted over with snow, which the art of the confec- 
tioners alone can accomplish — such borrowed skill was not 
needed at their wedding-feast, nor would Mrs. Smith have seen 
the merit of crusting a cake with a coating of ice for a table, 
round which only affection could gather. Ornaments they had 
— nature’s own, and not wanting in taste of arrangement. 
Rose had gathered white lilies, and laid them all over and in a 
circle round the large cake which her mother had made ; and 
strewn on the white table-cloth, in long winding lines, lay the 
flowers of the season reposing ; while round the plate of the 
bridegroom and bride bloomed a circle of nothing but heart ’s- 
ease Among the frail flowers stood the solid mass of the 
dishes — a great pie filled with rabbits, a ham dressed for the 
occasion, a fresh-cut cheese from the dairy, with butter made 
into swans that floated in a lake of water, or reposed on green 
borders of parsley. Each corner-dish was a large shining loaf, 
with a circle of smallest loaves in the plate round it. Cakes of 
every description — all home-made, with fruits from the garden ; 
sweet wine in glass decanters ; and a tankard for ale. While 
the faces around looked down on those smiling flowers, and the 
fingers of tenderest care still on all sides removed them — when 
any change of the dishes might have pressed on their forms : foi 


382 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


the recklessness that can gather together the fahest flowers of 
the Earth, to please the eye of those who will take no care to 
preserve their frail Heaven-given loveliness, is not found in the 
poor man’s home, nor in the dwellings of those who sow and 
reap the ground. 

Meanwhile, at the cottage, widow Jones had scarcely marked 
the progress of^time, intent on the interests of her newly arrived 
charge. “Pretty creatures !” said widow Jones, “sure enough I 
must find them some food!” So stooping down her aged 
figure, she cut up some grass and mixed it with such leaves as a 
cow, she well knew, would like, and then strewed it before 
the black heifer, who licked the old woman’s hand before feed- 
ing, as she used to do the hand of Patience — who had brought 
her up from a calf : then, having no corn of any description, 
widow Jones crumbled up a small piece of bread for the fowls, 
though she said at she showered it over them, that it would 
have been a shame on any other day to give them such food ! 
And, finally, she cut up a few vegetables for the pig. The 
creatures all liking their food, and the notice bestowed on them 
in their strange quarters, called after the dear old woman, till 
she heard such a lowing, and cackling, and grunting, that she 
hastened back to see after, them again ; but at last, quite fa- 
tigued, she told them all, gravely, that they must think she had 
something else to do than to see after them ! and having ven- 
tured so far in a reproof for their persevering demands, she 
returned to the house, and putting the small kettle on the little 
back-kitchen fire, made herself a quiet cup of tea, which greatlj 
refreshed her, so much so that after the toil and excitement of 
the morning she at last fell asleep in her arm-chair. She stept 
quietly there for some half-hour or more, when a sudden sharp 
tap at the door aroused her. “They are come !” thought widow 
J ones, as she started up from sleep ; but no, it was not her son 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


388 


who opened the door and looked in, it was a stranger. 11 Is this 
Roode’s plot ?” asked the man. “ Yes,” replied widow Jones, 
rather in alarm at sight of the stranger. “ I suppose you are 
the mother of the man who lives here ?” “ Yes,” said widow 

Jones, still more uneasy. “ Then you will please to give your 
son that letter, from Madam Clifford at the Hall, and be so 
good as to show us where to set up this eight-day clock !” 
Widow Jones looked out, and there at the stile stood a light 
cart with another man in it, and the eight-day clock. But be- 
fore she had time to consider, the men were in with the clock, 
and soon fixed on the best place to put it in themselves, and, 
finding the old woman had no objection to their choice of situa- 
tion, they set it up at once, observing as they did so, that it 
was one of the best time-keepers ever put together ; and before 
widow Jones had recovered enough from her surprise to do 
more than look at the outside of the letter in her hand, from 
that to the clock, and then back again to the sealed letter, the 
men were gone, and the cart, and all out of sight like a dream 
— except that there stood the clock, ticking each moment of 
time, and over the bright hands at the top of the face a colored 
picture of a shepherd-hid with a lamb on one arm, and his sheej. 
feeding at his feet. It was well widow Jones had had her 
cup of tea and her refreshing sleep, for most surely neither would 
have been thought of after the arrival of the clock. “ Then it ’s 
from Madam herself, for my Jem on his wedding-day !” at last 
said widow Jones, as she once more looked at the letter. 
“ Well !” she added, “ if all this is not wonderful, I don’t know 
what is !” and lifting a thankful look upward, old widow Jones 
sat down again in her arm-chair, to consider all things over 
before her children’s arrival. 

But when Patience at the farm at last turned to take leave, 
Mrs. Smith’s pleasant smile was gone, her lip quivered, and he/ 


884 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


strong firm voice faltered. Patience could not tell Her own 
feeling in words, but none needed to hear it spoken, her years 
of faithful service left no doubt of that — the moments passed, 
and the maid and her mistress had parted, the record of hei 
years in that place of service was finished, and nothing of the 
past could be altered. How often does that solemn moment 
oome and go unheeded — a service ended, a place deft, and the 
past is supposed to be done with ; but the record of that past — 
what is written there? that moment of parting has sealed it, 
and it lies from that time in the hand of the Judge, till the day, 
that bringeth all secret things to light — must see it unfolded. 
In the hands of the Judge lie the records of the past years of 
all; and not one created being can unfold or read them, still 
less alter a single word they contain. But there is One, and 
only One, to whom they still lie open — even Jesus, the Saviour 
of sinners ; and earnest prayer to Him may still avail to get all 
the hand-writing against us blotted out in his blood ; only let 
us not go thoughtlessly forward — as if those records of the past 
contained no sentence against us ! For Patience the record 
was blessed ; and she knew the secret of prayer to that Saviour, 
whose blood cleanseth from all sin — blotteth out all His peo- 
ple’s transgression, and maketh their imperfection perfect. So 
Patience had parted in peace, beneath the blessing of Heaven 
and of Earth, and was now descending the hill. Mrs. Smith 
waited a few moments looking out of the window, in the effort 
to recover composure ; then turning to Rose, who was watch- 
ing beside her, she said, “ I wish you would run after Patience 
with that,” taking a book done up in paper from her pocket, 
“ you know what it is, I did not feel able to speak about it when 
she went, as I meant to have done. You can tell her it’s foi 
the sake of little Tim !” Rose took the book, and her swifl 
steps soon overtook Patience, who, leaning on Jem, was ascend 



M. C 


p. 384 




MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


385 


iiig the opposite hill. “ Patience, mother sends you this, it ’s a 
book of family prayer, like the one my aunt gave' her: she 
wishes you to keep it for the sake of little Tim ; she meant to 
have given it you herself, only she was so overcome at ycur 
going !” Patience took the small parcel, and looking back at 
the farm, sent a message by Rose of her duty and her thanks to 
her mistress, with the assurance that they would take it into use 
every day. 

Mercy stayed at the farm to assist Mrs. Smith and Rose, in 
the clearing away; and to make things more cheerful there 
where she was a favorite with all. And now at length widow 
Jones looking out from above the bright geraniums in the win- 
dow, saw Jem and his bride at the stile. Then she opened wide 
the cottage door, and stood just within — where the sheltering 
vine on one side, and the drooping honeysuckle on the other, 
softly shaded the view of her now feeble figure. Patience walked 
up the path first, and Jem followed close after, and the old woman 
stretched out both her arms and clasped them round Patience, 
and Patience threw her’s round the old woman’s neck, and felt, 
for the first time in life, that she too had a mother ! Then as 
Patience unlocked that close embrace, the old woman turning to 
her son, said, “ God bless you, my Jem, and bless us all here to- 
gether, for I am sure ’t is his goodness that brings such things to 
pass !” and Jem looked on as if he felt the sight he then saw was 
the best sight of all. But just then, Jem started and stared, for a 
loud-striking clock told the hour, with a slow decided call upon 
the attention of all. 

“ Why, mother ! a clock ! where did it come from ?” 

u Ah ! never mind that !” replied widow Jones, “ look here in 
this drawer, here ’s a letter in Madam Clifford’s own hand— if, 
that don’t tell you all about it I am sure that I can’t !” 

Jem took up the letter. 


17 


886 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“But now, child, come, sit down,” said the old woman, turning 
to Patience. “ Why, to think that you have never been inside 
the door, and yet all these months you have known the place 
was just waiting for you !” 

Jem had opened the letter, but finding it not easy to read in 
a moment of time, he folded it up for a better opportunity, and 
turned again to his bride, and then leaning on the back of her 
chair, told his aged mother, who was seated before him, of the 
feast their good mistress had made at the farm. While Patience 
held closely that treasured book of prayer, and looked round on 
her new abode. What comfort beamed upon her from every 
corner : and there lay the large Bible, dear old Willy’s own Bible, 
of which Jem had so often told her! She longed to look on its 
pages where the old man had read, but she said nothing then ! 
and Jem seemed to wish to give her time to look round ; and 
poor old widow Jones looked so happy on the two, that she 
seemed in no hurry either to move or to speak. 

“Well,” at last Jem asked with his own cheerful smile, “do 
you think it looks any thing like what you fancied, and as if you 
could content yourself here ?” 

tf Not like what I fancied !” said Patience, looking up, “you 
never told me how beautiful it all was inside, I never saw such a 
home as it is for any like us !” 

“ Ah, that was all our young Squire’s doing,” said Jem, “ and 
I don’t know, but somehow a blessing seems to bide with it all 
for it always looks as beautiful and cheerful as can be, just as you 
see it looks now !” 

“ But what a clock that is !” said Patience, “ do yo see tha 
shepherd with the lamb in his arms? and the clock is so like 
ours at the farm, it seems quite natural to look at it !” 

“ Yes,” replied Jem, “ I never was more taken by surprise in 
my life then when it set up striking just as we had come in at 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 38 *) 

the door ! it seemed as if it must have a word to say to as also 1 
but I don’t seem to have thought about it yet. I can’t think,” 
added Jem, “ what that kind of grunting is I hear, I could almost 
have thought my poor little pig that I lost had come to life again, 
to welcome you here !” 

Then old widow Jones rose up from her chair, and said, “ I 
advise you to go and see what it is, and settle your mind about 
it at once !” so Jem opened the door into the back kitchen 
when a loud shrill crow from a cock burst on the ear of Pa- 
tience. 

u You come and all !” said Jem to Patience, who hastened 
| after him, the aged mother following — to the pig-stye; there 
j looked up the little black pig, grunting eagerly again as if quite 
! sure now of a feast; and then turning away from Jem and Pa- 
! tience, looked up at widow Jones, as soon as she, his kind feeder, 
arrived as the stye. 

“Why, mother! what a beauty of a pig!” exclaimed Jem, 
“ how ever in the world did you get it ? Why, it ’s just like one 
; of master’s at the farm !” 

“ I am not going to tell you every thing in a moment !” said 
widow Jones, decidedly ; while the cock, at the sound of pleasant 
voices, crowed forth a further announcer. Ait of his presence on 
the premises. Jem stepped on to the shed and opened the door, 
then holding it back, said in amaze, “ Patience, only you look in 
here !” Patience looked in ; there stood the black heifer, who 
a i sight of Patience pulled hard at the rope, by which she was 
tied, to get to her side ; there stood the new barrow ; the hens 
and the cock — in the basket made by the sailor-boy Ted. “ Now 
you just listen, ’’said widow Jones, “ and I ’ll tell you all. 51 So Jem 
stood there and listened, still all in amaze, and Patience beside 
him — while the black heifer was happy with her hand, which if 
licked on both sides. 


388 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


% 

“I was nere in the house then,” said widow Jones, “keeping 
all straight within ; when, who should I see but our master 
leading up the young cow ! Out I went ; and he told me be 
had brought it from our mistress, a present for Patience — for her 
very own, and he said she was to have it and sell milk to the 
poor ; and it seemed to me wholly a beautiful thing, that she 
who had been altogether a comfort up there, should come here 
to a home and sell milk to the poor ! But that was just what our 
master said ; and if you will believe, there’s the whole concern 
for the milking come too ! It’s all set out in the dairy ; just you 
come and look.” Back widow Jones hurried, and Patience and 
Jem followed after, to see the milk-pail with its bright rims, the 
milk-pans, and cream-pot, and skimmer, all set out in the dairy. 
Then, returning again, widow Jones went on to tell all the his- 
tory, not shortened the least by her remarks in between the 
matters of fact that she had to relate : how the fowls were from 
Rose ; the basket the sailor-boy’s work, and all that their master 
had said about it; and the barrow for Jem, to serve Jiim for life, 
in remembrance of the love of little Tim. Then followed the 
box and all its contents — quite new to widow Jones ; the house- 
linen, the shawl, and the picture: till Patience could bear up no 
longer against such tokens of affection and kindness, and, tying 
on her bonnet, she said, “ I tell you what, Jem, before we do any 
thing more I must go down to the farm, and you with me, and 
speak about what we found here!” So Patience and Jem re- 
turned again to the farm, and going in by the back-door, found 
Mrs. Smith still busy clearing away : Patience sat down on the 
low-backed kitchen chair, where she sat in tears the day little 
Tim first took notice of her ; she could not now speak a word, 
but, quite overcome, she hid her face and wept, while Jem stood 
silent beside her. “ Why, Patience, child !” said Mrs. Smith, 
stopping short with a cloth in her hand, with which she was 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


389 


rub 1 . ring up the tankard; “come back so soon! why, child, 
what ’s the matter ?” 

“ It ’s only your goodness, and master’s too,” said Jem ; “ in- 
deed it’s all over too much for us both !” 

“ Well now, if that’s all,” replied Mrs. Smith, “you have done 
and said quite enough, so never let me hear another word about 
that, nor your master either — here he is close by to say the 
same.” 

“ But the black heifer !” said Patience, without looking up ; 
“I am sure I never could of thought it! I thought I was 
leaving all the creatures behind, and then, when I got up there 
—why they seemed all up there before me !” 

“And where could they have been better, child, I should like 
to know ?” replied Mrs. Smith. “ Haven’t you and Jem just 
tended them all with that care that nothing seemed to be lost 
that was % under your hand ? You know that very well ; and 
though it’s just what every one who has a right principle would 
do, yet I was not going to seem as if I did not know it, for I 
did, and your master no less! And I do say, if there’s one in 
the village who has more of a right than another to sell milk 
for the poor, it’s just you and Jem ! I know I always have taken 
a pleasure in that, and I am pretty sure you will no less ; and 
such a fancy we all had for the black heifer — what could we 
wish better for her than to live for serving the poor with her 
milk ! Why I am sure I little thought you would not get over 
the day without being down here again ! But it’s just your 
way for all that, and you may be sure I shall soon come up and 
look after you ; so not a word more about any thing — you re- 
member I have said it!” And with that Mrs. Smith made an 
end of her reply. 

And now in looked Rose and Mercy, both ready for a walk 
all surprise at sight of Patience and Jem. 


390 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Why, here’s Rose and Mercy coming off up to you, and you 
noi at home to receive them! There now, be satisfied, and 
don’t shed another tear over that which comes only as a bless- 
ing!” said Mrs. Smith, and then adding, “Good-by to you, 
my good girl, I don’t think any the worse of you for coming so 
soon down !” and with fresh and livelier parting words than 
before, Fatience again hastened back to her cottage-home with 
Jem. 

The good mother had set out the tea all in readiness — the 
picture of comfort. Rose and Mercy followed after, Rose bear- 
ing the round wedding-cake, her mother’s own making; and 
Mercy carrying all the white lilies in an open farm-basket or 
her arm, and a nosegay of the fiowers in her hand. The cake 
was set down in the middle of the table, and Rose would do 
and look at nothing till she had covered it again with its lilies 
--to the admiration and delight of widow Jones. Then visiting 
all the creatures with Patience and Mercy and Jem, she hastened 
back again to the farm ; while Jem and his bride, and his 
mother and Mercy, sat down at the round cottage table. Then 
Mrs. Clifford’s letter was brought out again ; and Mercy knew 
her mistress’s handwriting, and was able to read it every word 
to the pleasure of the whole party. 

Now Jem began to consider how he could get his duty and 
his thanks to Madam Clifford ; he consulted with Mercy whether 
she thought he might make bold and step up that evening and 
ask to speak to the young Squire ; o • whether he ought to wait 
till the next day. Jem’s grateful heart did not like to pass the 
day over without offering his thanks ; he was dressed also in 
his best, which seemed suitable for going up to the Hall on such 
an occasion ; but still more than this, Jem had a feeling of not 
liking to pass his wedding-day over without so much as a sight 
of the young Squire : he seernod to think that all could not go 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


391 


so well with him f he went over the day without a sight of him ; 
bo it was decided that after tea he §hould walk up. But while 
they were still seated round at the table, (the cottage-door wide 
open,) in that summer afternoon, and Jem seated in full view of 
the road, he suddenly started up, saying, “ There ’s our young 
Squire himself at the stile!” So Jem hastened out; there 
Herbert stood, with a noble dog waiting beside him. “ Well, 
Jem,” said the young Squire, “ I could not be the only one not to 
wish you well in a friendly greeting to-day, so I walked down 
this way, expecting now I should find you at home.” Then 
Jem sent his best message of duty and gratitude to^ Madam 
Clifford for the handsomest clock, Jem said, he ever had seen ! 
And he asked the young Squire if he would please to walk in 
and see how it stood. Herbert went in with Jem, and there he 
saw that dwelling of comfort and peace; the tall clock with 
the shepherd-lad and the young lamb on his arm painted on it ; 
the lily-covered cake ; the aged mother in her new array ; and 
Patience and Mercy beside her. The young Squire sat down, 
and the dog sat at his feet and looked up in his face. Then 
Herbert said, “Jem, now you are a rich man, and I thought you 
might manage to keep a good dog. I had this from some dis- 
tance for you, the best of his kind, I believe ; he is a huge feh 
low, but he won’t cost you more, I fancy, than you will be will- 
ing to spend on him. What do you say to having him for a 
helper ?” 

“ Well, sir,” replied Jem, u to my thinking, he looks to have 
sense enough to keep sheep by himself !” 

At Jem’s wit they all laughed, and the young Squire was 
quire satisfied ; but he said, “ You must take a little notice of 
him at first, or I am afraid he will run off to me, for I have 
made a great favorite of him ; we must tie him up for to-night. 
And see here, I have brought a cord, for I remembered that 


892 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


you only engaged for a pair of hands — when I came to you sup* 
posing you furnished with ropes for drawing up the log from the 
ditch !” The young Squire went with Jem to fasten up the dog, 
and then Jem showed him the presents received that day ; and 
to be able to show them to him seemed to double the joy Jem 
felt in them all : and if the black heifer was a treasure to Pa- 
tience, what was not the* noble shepherd’s dog to Jem — the 
young Squire’s own gift ! Then the Squire heard how Patience 
was to sell milk to the poor, and this led him to inquire why 
there should be occasion for that, and then he found from Jem 
that all tfee farmers made their milk into cheese, and so had none 
to sell, except farmer Smith ; and the Squire made a note in his 
book of the fact, and remembered it in years to come. Then he 
left honest Jem with his bride and his mother in old Willy’s 
cottage — and returned to the Hall. 

After tea, while Patience and Mercy cleared away, Jem went 
after food for the creatures ; he longed to take his dog with him, 
but he could not venture so soon. Then the sun went down in 
the sky ; and when all the live creatures were provided for — 
before Mercy returned to the Hall — Jem opened olcl Willy’s 
Bible, and while they all sat around, he read the 103d Psalm, 
and then they knelt down, and he offered up the evening prayer 
from the book Mrs. Smith had given in remembrance of little 
Tim. And so closed that bright summer, day. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


e When the ear heard, then it blessed me ; and when the eye saw, it gave witness to 
mo : because I delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless and him that had none 
to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon mo; and I 
caused the widow’s heart to sing for joy. ’— Job xxix. 11 - 13 . 

GOON after the young Squire came of age, it was necessary to 
^ appoint a fresh steward for the estate on which he resided, to 
watch over and receive the rents of the farms, and for all such 
affairs as belong to the office of a farm-steward. He had looked 
forward to this change, and made his own choice as to who 
should fill this office — so important in the manner of its exercise 
to the comfort as well as to the integrity of those over whom 
the steward is appointed to watch. No sooner was the office 
vacant than William was sent for to the Hall, and it was offered 
to him. Farmer Smith’s farm was not large, and it would be 
easy for William still to live with his parents, assist his father on 
the farm, and yet accomplish all that this new employment 
would require of him : while the yearly salary received would 
make the circumstances of his family all he could desire — for it 
was only the difficulty of always being ready with his rent that 
kept farmer Smith’s mind harassed by his business. So William 
gratefully accepted the offer, and was appointed farm-steward of 
the estate. 

A year passed peacefully over Patience in her new abode ; 
and when the summer came again — with its long days and 
refreshing fruits, she received a visit from her first master’s 


394 


MINISTERING CHILDREN 


family ; they all came over to spend a day, to the joy of Patience 
and the delight of all the children — but especially of little 
Esther, who was left for a month’s visit with Patience, till she 
became so fond of all country sights and sounds — of the black 
cow with its brimming pail of white-frothed milk ; the poor 
women and children coming to buy of Patience ; the white 
hens, and little chickens who flew upon her shoulders ; the 
shepherd’s dog and the sheep ; and even of feeding the pig with 
all that Patience put by in a plate for its food, of vegetables 
and apple-peels — that she returned to her home in the town, 
fully resolved on being a farm-house servant, and living with 
Mrs. Smith — if she would receive her when her age was suffi- 
cient. 

Mrs. Smith had had a trying year with her servants, three times 
in the course of the year she had been obliged to make a change ; 
she tried to be patient and not to expect too much, but it was all 
of no use ; she said, she found all the servant-girls of one mind 
— and that was idleness and finery, instead of real honest work ! 
So thoughtless girls came and left a situation where Patience 
had stayed to earn the favor of all. Mrs. Smith was quite in 
despair, and said she saw no help for it but doing the work her- 
self with Rose, for such servants were more trial than all their 
service was worth. Patience often came down to the farm on 
baking-days, or churning-days, or washing-days, and stayed for 
some hours to help ; and these were pleasant times both to her 
mistress and herself. One day while Patience was busy taking 
out the bread from the large brick oven at the farm, Mrs. Smith 
being then without a servant, a pleasant-looking woman came up 
to the door and asked if Mrs. Smith was within. 

u Yes,” said Patience, and she went to let her mistress know. 

“ I daresay it ’s only a girl after the place !” said Mis. Smith. 

“ No, she looks over age to be after that,” replied Patience. 


MINISTER 1NO CHILDREN. 


395 


So Mrs. Smith came down as soon as she was ready, to the back- 
kitchen where the young woman waited. Mrs. Smith looked at 
her for a moment as she stood there before her, then exclaimed, 
“ Why, Molly ! is it you ?” 

“ Yes, that it is,” replied Molly, “ I heard you were unsettled, 
and I thought perhaps you would not be against my coming 
back to you again, for I have never felt at home, or stayed long 
in any place since I left you, and I think if I could but get back 
here, I should feel settled again. I am sure I have often repent- 
ed that I gave up as I did, instead of trying on a little longer ; 
but I hope I should be wiser for the future !” 

“ Well, Molly,” said Mrs. Smith, “ I always felt I was to blame 
for your leaving ; but I hope things are better now in some re- 
spects, than they were : though the child is gone ! — you know 
that, I suppose ?” 

“Yes,” replied Molly, “I vexed sadly for him! it cut me up 
more than any thing to have left him ; but I hope it was all for 
the best for him, by what I heard.” 

“ Well, Molly, I know you, and you know the place, and if 
your mind is to come back, I am sure my mind is the same, and 
your master’s I can answer for as well as my own, and therefore 
there ’s no need to say any more words about it.” So Molly 
came back to the farm, a more patient servant, to find a more 
patient mistress ; and comfort was once more restored to Mrs. 
Smith’s household arrangements. 

Another pleasant event of this summer was the return of the 
sailor-boy from his first long voyage. Full of spirits and bodily 
vigor, sun-burnt, and laden with his gifts of love — he came to 
gladden the hearts of all ; to shake heartily every friendly hand 

an d f none were foes with him ; to visit every familiar spot ; to 

hold discourse with all the men of village-trade on the use he 
had made, or was likely to make, of their arts^-tliough he had 


396 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


yet known no shipwreck; to learn again from the lips of the 
Minister — to tell him what he had seen and heard and done, and 
to listen to his advice for the future. He made no little stir 
both in the farm and village; and then, having formed a strong 
friendship with Jem’s noble dog ; comforted his mother ; and 
satisfied his father and William, he went oft' again — light and 
6wift as a bird of passage, to be tossed once more on the lree- 
crested waves. 

Another year passed by, and when the next Autumn came, 
the young Squire had completed his college life, and satisfied 
the best hopes of his boyhood’s tutor, and it was understood in 
the village that he was going abroad again with his mother. 
These tidings gave great disappointment to the hopes of those 
who had looked to the comfort of his residence among them ; 
but having assembled his tenantry, he told them that he be- 
lieved his absence would not be for more than six months, 
and then he hoped to return and live among them for the fu- 
ture. He had no sooner left than repairs and alterations were 
begun at the Hall ; and the mansion, far from looking desolate 
and deserted as before, was a scene of perpetual life and activ- 
ity. 

Two years of unclouded comfort Patience had enjoyed in her 
cottage home, Jem’s aged mother, relieved from all care and 
toil, had regained fresh vigor and spirits — she was always busy 
in little ways, always at hand, always reflecting the brightness 
of that bright cottage-home. But the winter of the Squire’s 
absence proved a severe one, and the sudden cold seemed sud- 
denly to snap the old woman’s feeble stem of life, and she lay 
down on her bed to die ! Patience could not believe, when the 
doctor told her that her mother’s death was near. “ Why it 
was but a week ago,” she said, “my mother was up and as cheer- 
ful and well as ever I have known her to be !” The doctor ro- 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


301 


plied, “ It might be so, but her hours are numbered no^ !” Stib 
Patience could not believe ; she thought it must be a sudden 
chill, and that warmth and care would restore her. She lighted 
and kept up, day and night, a bright little fire in the small grate 
up stairs ; she made cordials, and Mrs. Smith came up more 
than once in the day ; but the old woman smiled on them, and 
said, “ It ’s just sweet to my old heart to feel you all bent to 
keep me still, if you could ! but I am going where I shall be fai 
better off even than here — though my last days have been my 
best days !” Then, looking up at Patience, she said, “ You 
have just been my evening star, lighting me Home — for I have 
gathered more knowledge these two years with you, than I had 
in my whole life before — let the thought of that comfort you as 
long as you live ! Jem, my son ; ” she added, turning to him, “ you 
have been your mother’s staff all through the weariest of her 
way — which lay on this side your poor father’s grave. God 
grant your mother’s blessing may fall upon you in the hour of 
your need ! I know you will take care of Mercy ; she is not fit 
to stand in this rough world alone, it would soon break her 
down ; but the God of the orphan will not let his promise fail. 
It is not darkness to me ; the light that has but glimmered be- 
fore me so long, shines all bright round me now ; and I hear 
the voice of Him who says, ‘ Come unto me and I will give you 
rest !’ ” So the widow departed, and her children mourned for 
her. Mercy was far away with Mrs. Clifford in a foreign land . 
but tears were shed for old widow Jones by the eyes of those 
who owned no tie of kindred with her. The snow lay deep 
upon the ground, and Patience, ill from the anxiety of nursing 
and the shock of so sudden a loss — having also her infant child 
to tend — was little fit to venture to the grave. Jem earnestly 
persuaded her not to go, but Patience would not be persuaded ; 
ahe said it was the only respect she could now show to one who 


398 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


had been all a mother could be to her ; and to have lost hor so 
suddenly — was a trial she had never so much as thought upon 1 
Jem gave way, and Patience followed their aged mother to the 
grave by his side. But she took cold, as might have been ex 
pected, and was soon confined to her bed. Rose now came and 
tended Patience and the infant, day by day, with gentlest care ; 
and Mrs. Smith was continually contriving in every way to min- 
ister to her comfort: but, notwithstanding all this care, and 
Jem’s ceaseless anxiety, the spring was approaching before Pa- 
tience was able to leave her bed and sit down stairs in old Willy’s 
arm-chair. 

But the cheerful spring advanced — the frost gave way before 
the sun’s warm beams, the flowers raised their heads above 
their wintery graves, the birds looked down from tree and hedge 
and sang a welcome to them ; new life and vigor came slowly 
back to Patience, and hope and comfort to the heart of Jem. 
Patience had not yet milked the cow since her illness, nor stood 
in her dairy to help the poor people who came, nor walked 
down once to the farm ; but the spring had set foot on the 
Earth, and the Earth was rejoicing at his presence, and Patience 
felt that her life was reviving. And now all her anxiety was to go 
to the church for the Sunday’s service ; she said she knew when 
she had once been there she should seem to be well again, and 
able to milk her cow and attend to all her home work. But 
Jem was firm now, he had sorely repented having suffered Pa- 
tience to attend their mother’s funeral, and he now was resolved 
to act prudently. At length as May was giving place to June, 
the very last Sunday in the month dawned as soft and lovely a 
day as the spring-time ever beheld. Jem could not refuse Pa- 
tience her wish on such a day ; so, wrapped up and leaning on 
the arm of her husband, with steps more feeble than she had ex- 
pected them to be, while Rose kept house with the infant 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


390 


in the cottage, Patience went to the afternoon-service in the 

church. 

The Minister — their own Minister, preached a missionary ser- 
mon : and when he told of the poor heathen without God — 
because without Christ, and therefore without hope in the 
world, Patience thought she could feel something of what it 
must be to live, and sicken, and die, without one glimpse of 
Heaven, one hope of entering there ! She thought of her dy- 
ing mother’s peace, she thought of her husband’s Christian 
life, she thought of their child baptized in her Saviour’s Name, 
she thought of her own faith and hope — and she longed to do 
something for the poor heathen as a token of her thankfulness 
to God, and her pity for them. But what could she do ? Their 
mother’s funeral, and the doctor’s long attendance on her, had 
taken all Jem’s savings. Jem’s last week’s wages were all 
spent on the Saturday except one shilling, which he had in his 
pocket, and that she would not ask him for, because perhaps 
he might be thinking of giving it himself. If Patience had 
known of the collection she would have tried to save something 
back for it on the Saturday ; but Jem had not told her — most 
likely he had forgotten it himself. What could she do ? Pa- 
tience had still one treasure, a possession in money that she al- 
ways kept with her. She had kept it through want and dis- 
tress, through trouble and sickness, through prosperity and 
comfort; she had thought to keep it through life, and that 
nothing would ever win it from her — it was the Lady’s half- 
crown, the first gift she had ever received from the hand of 
love; her first knowledge of tenderness was bound up with 
that gift: and she had kept it, as her treasured possession, 
through all her life’s changes. But now the call to part with 
it entered her heart— it seemed to come from Heaven, and 
Earth seemed to repeat the same call— “ Is it too much for you 


400 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


to give up, to send the Name of your Saviour to those who 
never heard the blessed sound of pardon and Heaven through 
Jesus Christ?” Patience felt the question deep within her 
heart, and she resolved — “ No, I will part with it for that !” But 
now a trial of her resolution came : Jem crossed from the men’s 
benches, after service, to her, and slipped their remaining shilling 
into her hand, saying, “ It’s all we have, so you must give it !” 

“ No,” replied Patience, “ I have something besides, you must 
give that !” Jem looked at her, as if thinking she must be mis- 
taken, but seeing her decided, he took the shilling and put it 
himself into the plate as he passed out. Patience followed 
slowly, and dropped her half-crown into the same plate, then, as 
if in a moment, her heart seemed lightened and her steps 
strengthened. Her husband was waiting for her outside the 
door, and she walked home by his side. 

The sky that Sabbath afternoon was beautiful before them as 
they descended the hill. When they reached their peaceful 
cottage the door stood partly open, and they heard- the voice 
of Rose singing to their infant ; the kettle was boiling on the 
wood-fire, the tea was set ready on the round table, and all 
looked the picture of repose. Rose hastened back to the farm, 
and Jem, with lighter heart and brighter face than he had had 
for many a day — sat down with Patience to their cheerful tea. 
No cloud of troubled feeling hung over Patience — no, her per 
sonal sacrifice was made to Him who gives a present as well as 
a future reward : and Jem could scarcely believe the change 
for the better he saw in her. It seemed as if the Lady’s piece 
of money — that gift of tenderness, true to the feeling which 
bestowed it, was not only to possess a power to soothe through 
years of trial, but, when at last parted from, was to yield more 
present comfort and peace, even than when possessed ; while the 
endless future alone can make manifest the results of what 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


401 


is so given, as this treasured possession of Patience — in love, 
and faith, and prayer! From that first Sabbath at church, 
Patience improved daily in health. Their infant, little Peace 
by name, grew strong and merry when more with its mother 
in the open air; and though Patience could not at once recover 
her strength and her look of health, yet the home of Jem again 
wore its cheerful aspect, and the voice of joy was again heard 
within it. 

When May had given place to June, the preparations at the 
Hall were completed. All that was the work of the builder’s 
art had been renewed, or fresh adorned : only one room had 
been left unentered by the repairer’s step — it was the room that 
had been his sister’s, which Herbert had made his own ; affec- 
tion invested the faded adornment of that room with more at- 
traction than any power of art could have imparted. Around 
the mansion the stately trees and verdant slopes wore as fresh 
an aspect as when they first put on the emerald brightness oj 
the spring. Tidings had arrived in the village of the Squire 
having been married abroad : and now the day was fixed for 
his return, with his bride and mother, to the Hall. 

The appointed day arrived : and the early stir of preparation 
was general. No gifts had been ordered by the Squire to cele- 
brate the event; well he knew that his presence — his heart 
and mind, his eye and voice — would be a gift more prized than 
any, by villagers whose affections had grown around him from 
his boyhood. But orders were given by him for all the park- 
gates to be opened, that those who wished might receive him, 
on his return to reside among them there, where he first had 
parted from them at his father s side. None were slow to go 
forth to the welcome — all dressed in festal garments, with the 
look of expectant gladness, they waited and watched. The 
tenantry had gone forward on horseback, a few miles. While 


402 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


William, steward of the farms, mounted on Black Beauty, 
stood at the grand entrance gate. Four had been named as 
the hour; and now it struck from the great stable clock 
Then the scattered groups stood up from the greensward ; and 
children took their parents’ hands in questioning excitement. 
William rode on Black Beauty — who chafed at his long holding 
in — once down the broad walks of the park, and shouted a 
request that all would stand off at the arrival, then back again 
quickly to his post at the great entrance gate. Ringers had 
been stationed by William in the first village church where the 
Squire had property, and as soon as the long line of tenantry 
returning and escorting the Squire were seen from that village 
steeple, the bells were to strike up a peal. A watcher was set 
on the tower of the next village church — and as soon as he 
heard the signal of approach, the solitary bell in that tower 
was to send on the tidings — over hill and valley, over the 
green waving corn and the yet unmown grass — to a watcher 
on the tower of their own village church, then were their own 
bells to ring out the welcome heard from afar. All hushed 
their breath to listen for the first distant sound— too impatient 
to wait for nearer tidings, trusting to catch from their friendly 
hills an echo to the first joyous peal. And who could wonder I 
Had not he, who now drew near, made their sorrows and joys, 
their welfare and happiness, his own ? — not by general dispen- 
sations of kindness, but by that frank and personal intercourse, 
which binds the heart with the tie of devoted affection — a tie 
far stronger, far higher, and deeper, than that of mere personal 
gratitude for favors received. Had they not seen his warm 
feeling gush forth, seen his active sympathy spring to the 
surface at the sight or hearing of trouble or sorrow of theirs ? 
Was not the quick glance of his boyhood-eye, his generous 
utterance, familiar to many assembled there ? Who would 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


408 


not come forth to receive in his manhood, the boy who had 
toiled in the ditch over old Willy’s log; who had climbeo 
the thatcher’s ladder to lay in an armful of straw, in the 
eager gladness of his heart at effacing the neglect of the poor 
man’s oppressor ! The whole village might have received gifts 
on some stately occasion, in some stately manner by the boy 
provided with the means for the large bestowment; but it 
would not have bound the heart of the village to that boy like 
one free spontaneous effort — such as Herbert’s had been, bear- 
ing witness to his self-forgetfulness in the poor man’s distress. 
And was he not the brother of her who, to them, had seemed 
an angel upon earth ? When once aroused to a sense of their 
blessedness, had he not followed in uer gentler steps with lik 
manly power, and had not the light of her life shone reflected 
in him ? Then might the deep well-spring of feeling that 
had followed her to Heaven break forth again to welcome hi* 
return to his home ! True loyalty is happily a contagious emo- 
tion, and many a heart beat quicker, and many a cheek glowed 
with feeling that day, in those who did but estimate the event 
by the expectation of others. 

The servants had now gathered to the door ; the men, in 
their livery of dark blue and white, stood in two lines extend- 
ing one on each side the steps ; while the maids stood assem- 
bled in the entrance-hall. Again and again some eager lis- 
tener said, “ I heard the bells strike up — I am pretty sure I 
'did !” But, no, it could not have been, for their own village 
tower still stood silent. At length William, the farm-steward, 
turned Black Beauty’s head round, and facing the people and 
the servants, waved his hat above his head, then replacing it, 
turned instantly back again, standing sideways by the j^ate — 
he had caught the sound of the distant peal : breathlessly the 
people now listened, and in a few minutes more their own vil- 


404 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


lage chime struck full on the ear : then the throng pressed sidu 
by side, as near as might be to the broad carriage sweep, while 
on pealed the bells ; till the sound of many trampling hoofs 
was heard along the road. Still on they rang, till full in sight 
came the traveling-carriage, with its four horses and its blue 
postillions; then the people raised a shout, and the tenantiy 
who followed lifted their hats and joined the welcome cheers; 
through the great gate the carriage dashed, and William held 
his hat above his head, scarcely able to restrain Black Beauty’s 
excited spirit ; and his eye glanced up from his master’s face, 
to where young Mercy sat behind on the carriage — the village 
maiden back from the foreign land, pale with her own deep 
feeling, and the sound of that thrilling welcome. The carriage 
stopped at the Hall-door, and the tenantry dismounted and held 
their horses in hand. The Squire stepped from the carriage 
and led his mother in to the care of her faithful servants ; then 
returning handed out his Lady, and waving his hand to the 
people, led her within. William riding up, dismounted, and 
slipping Black Beauty’s bridle over his arm, took down the 
orphan Mercy from the carriage with a brother’s softened wel- 
come — for she wore mourning for the grandmother lost in her 
absence, who had filled the place of both parents to her, and 
her eyes were filled with the tears of mingled feelings. Thin 
a servant brought a message to William from the Hall, and he 
instantly mounted Black Beauty again, and riding down the 
walks shouted, “ The Squire begs you will be seated on the 
grass.” Servants quickly appeared bearing between them trays 
of cake, and baskets filled with bottles of wine, all prepared by 
the Squire’s orders in readiness beforehand. Then rising, the 
people ^breathed — not with a shout — but in a low murmur, a 
blessing on the head they had seen from its childhood uncov- 
ered beneath their roofs and among them ; a blessing on the 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


405 


Squire’s Lady; and a blessing on his mother. The Squire 
stood at an open window looking down upon them and hearing 
the thrice-repeated blessing ; and his Lady at his. side ; and his 
heart filled with thankfulness that his tenants and dependants 
were his friends. Then the Squire turned away from the win- 
dow, and the people took their refreshment all seated on the 
grass, till the Squire came out, and his Lady on his arm; 
they stood on the first Hall step, and the people rose in silence, 
and he said in a voice not loud but clear — a voice whose tones 
were all familiar, “ God bless you, my friends, and enable us 
to reta’n your affection. We thank you for your welcome.” 
And then he came down with his Lady ; and he passed slowly 
among the people, with his friendly greeting, and his Lady at 
his side — and all the time the village bells rang out the same 
glad peal. 

The eye of the Squire sought out Jem : well he knew his 
heart would be among the first to welcome him there, but he 
could nowhere discover his figure. At last he saw him, with 
his dog close beside him, his infant on his arm, and Patience at 
bis side, at the further edge of the assembly, so he made his 
way up to him. The dog knew the Squire, and sprang forward 
to greet him, and leaping up licked his hand, and the Squire 
caressed him as he passed on to Jem, and said, in his kind 
cheerful tone, “ Well, Jem ; do you pretend to be the last to 
welcome home your friend !” and that beautiful Lady stood be- 
side the Squire, and said with a smile, “ I know the name of 
Jem! Is this your wife and child?” When Patience heard 
her speak she looked up at her face, then falling on her knee, 
she caught hold of that Lady’s dress, and pressing it to her 
lips, looked up again into her face, exclaiming, “0 dearest 
L^y!” — It was the Lady Gertrude! And — faint from long 
standing and overcome with feeling — poor Patience fell back 


406 


MINI8TERING CHILDREN. 


apon the arm of Jem, who laid her gently on the grass, and 
knelt beside her. The Squire said, “ Bring water ! and fetch 
the gamekeeper’s light cart to carry her home !” and Jem look- 
ed up and said, “ She has been ill for months, and was but just 
getting over it, only I persuaded her to come with me to-day, 
— but it’s been all over too much for her !” And the Lady 
Gertrude looked on the pale face of Patience — pale with her 
late long illness, but she saw no trace there of that early misery 
that had left its impression so strongly on her heart — she did 
not know her to have been that child ! Women had gathered 
round, Mrs. Smith and Rose were by this time with Patience, 
and the Squire and his Lady passed on , but as they returned 
toward the Hall, the Lady Gertrude said to the Squire, “ They 
are still there, let us ask how Jem’s wife is now !” so they stop 
ped, and the little close-gathered circle opened, and the Lady 
Gertrude said, “How is she now?” Patience was still seated 
on the grass, leaning on the arm of Jem, but she had revived, 
and now seeing their Lady again, she said, “ 0, Jem, she is not 
gone ! ask if I may speak to her?” And the Lady Gertrude 
heard the words, and saw the flush suffuse the cheek of Patience, 
and kneeling on one knee upon the grass, beside her, she laid 
her hand upon the clasped hands of Patience, and said, “You 
are better now, you will soon recover this!” But Patience 
looking up, said, “ 0, forgive me, dearest Lady ! I was that 

poor child you comforted in ! it was you that put feeling 

into my froze-up heart ! and I thought I should never have 
seen you again, and then to see you stand there — it wholly 
overcame me !” Tears .came to that Lady’s eyes, as she said, 
“ Are you indeed the same ? then T am come to live near you 
now, and as I saw you in sorrow, so I hope I shall often see you 
in joy ! You may be sure I shall soon come to your cottage !” 

Jem had heard all about the love of Patience for that heav- 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


407 


enly child that had come to her in her misery, and he looked 
upon that beautiful Lady kneeling there, with eyes of reverence 
and wonder; and tears were in the Squire’s eyes as he stood 
there — but he did not speak a word ; and Mrs. Smith, and Rose 
with little Peace in her arms, and the women standing round — 
looked on astonished ; but the light cart drove up, and the 
Squire returned with his Lady to the Hall, and Patience was 
taken back to her home, and so her heart’s long desire was ful- 
filled — beyond all she had ever hoped or thought; and she 
quickly recovered strength ; and the voice of joy and health 
was heard within her dwelling. 

Wagons and carts carried home the rejoicing people ; and 
those near at hand returned on foot. And now the sun went 
down, and the long shadows fell over lawn and wood. Mrs. 
Clifford stood at the window with her children, and gazed on 
the slopes where the welcoming throng had been, and said, “ It 
was too much for me to look upon, but not too much to feel the 
deepest thankfulness for !” and her son looked on her in answer- 
ing tenderness. And then the Squire asked his Lady, if she 
missed the mountains from the landscape that she had been used 
to from her childhood ! And she replied, “ 0, human hearts 
are better than the hills, and stronger too in their encircling 
power ! I know not where on Earth I could be so happy as 
here. And meeting, the first thing, with that poor child, whom 
I have thought of in her sorrow through so many years, seems 
to me a bright earnest of good.” The sun went down, and the 
fervent feelings of that day reposed in the quiet of night’s restful 
hours. 

And now we must take leave of our ministering children, — 
who have all outgrown their childhood ; — to write of and for 
childhood being all that we promised from the beginning. We 


408 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

have only to ask the children who read this story, whether they 
also are ministering children ? This story has been written to 
show, as in a picture, what ministering children are. There ia 
no child upon Earth who may not be a ministering child ; be- 
cause the Holy Spirit of God, even the blessed Comforter Him- 
self, will come to every child of God who asks that blessed 
Spirit to teach him how to comfort others. Even the beloved 
Son of God, when He came down from Heaven to Earth, came 
to minister to those who were in need — He Himself tells us so. 
And God sends His holy angels down to Earth to be ministering 
spirits here. The youngest child of God, who is able to under- 
stand any thing, can learn to be a ministering child ; therefore, 
all who pray to God as their Heavenly Father, must try in every 
way they can to minister to others : and then one day they will 
go where there is no want, and no sorrow, and no sin, but only 
fullness of joy and pleasure for evermore, in their Heavenly 
Father’s presence in glory ; and there they will see those whom 
they comforted and taught to know the love of God their Sa- 
viour upon earth. “ And so shall they ever be with the Lord 
u and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes ; and there 
shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall 
there be any more pain ; for the former things will be passed 
away.” — Rev. xxi. 4. 

0 669 


THE END. 




















































































•tt 

<* ,0o v * 

>- A ✓ 


* * '0 

"> 9,1 .0* sS*»* / ^ 


/V » 
5 %><? « 

' ,^ Vf V 


A 



O ^y" T ^''' V ^5^‘' J ' 0 Oj ' 

* 0 V 0 ^ x * 0 

. c ^ vVL 



.s << 

•b ^ 


o' + o> 

^ .>■«. % y °* k ■ 
v V /K^ ^ o 

^ " *© o x 

05 ^ . 

^ ^-. * s'- A 

' ,0- 



r O > * 9^ 


<£* Cr 

C? 





^ «V 

8 1 ' rtf* 



O 


> % % 



« V* ( 

v> 


° ^ ^ 1 V 

■*> A ,y* yj V 



-* » > — • 

$°\ » N c * % "' ** ' ' v . 1 1 * « -o 

^ H. 

- •• ^ ° 

* 

° ■%. '* 
\''r»»’*/' % *• 

> V> * > \ a o ^ 


s 




tr 




S> 


9 1 V 


\V) O' 

N*. c Q Q > '/-* 

V s S 1>W '' ^ 

N A&yQPFto*. s *< 


-V 




t/* 

* C y>- 

o ■* 0 * * * a* <• *7°%^ A *b- 

^ ^ . 0 N 0 ^ ^ * 4 S ^\ fl \ l B H -1 

' f *f> ^ . X *? 

.v 7 0mZ2*> + 



iSf ': ' , o o^ : *^yi ; 

v - < -, ^ . *<%/])&■ * ,-> 

N '-,o- 



^ V 

J ^ * o ' 

^ * a R 0 ^ 

O V* A * 0 ^ 

*<■ Y 

V V v\V ♦ 

cf* ,^v 

♦ ' X ^ ^ 



o * A °-l~ * 5 N 

. ' ^ C‘ 


. \ 1 * L ,' 


Al> <t V 

! *es>/Yfc 


© 0 
A 


\ 






o O' 


V ^ * a , a * A * ., w o ^ \V - 

T*-ftSi'*- . .A* V ' " 




c* ✓ 

©, * 5 

V 0 v * S 1 ~A* A 

. A v >> >. ^ *<> 

^ ^ *«l‘- **. 

z H 

* * ** v \ °$wj <? 

. JA V J tjsmy. A * *-'-<& 

* "W? 


C y>> 

CA 5 *<* ^ 

oV ^ 

J 0 V K * < 0 • 

* l* 

>- f° t 

- A^r-; V 


vA 




/C\ / 

^ = o 5 ^ " 

•* v <*-, * . 

*> k o •’ \^ V . ^ * 

// O V’ *- Y 0 

' ^ * 

* JIN «» //L c 




•r -v 

1 " w /*. ^ 


- \ V <A 

; : •#■ % 



■> “» «T -S - -A ^ 

, s ^ y 0 k * <G V 

* * V * CA .Q v e 

- ^ . S ^ * <-> f, $ 

• • a/VA / / / ^~~S> ^f, v . ^ 

*■ V* r#3rl& " w Xgws- 
> 0 < 3 * zWfe^ il ^J^.* 

o 'z ^vii^ .' a.* 1 i- (. ‘U*— f pJJ vw . 

* . ,*% /. •, ; ‘ 0 - 

>. ^ ^ - T ^ v - ^ ^ ^ 

J ' </> 




A ov - y s 

** A N r C " ° A X 

-0 y C ° C 4> ^ A 4 ^ C ^ 


- c^xvm * ~K*> 

o' ! '. A v 

tfwm - »o « 


8 I ' 


,0' 



v % 

■' V A “V • 

^ • ‘&L* ° 




* ^ At' ♦ 

1 </' .<V 


j A At* 

A , "O- " ^ 0 * X % A 

A ^'^'/o, ,.o^ 


o ^ 


, c "' 




